Ed grunted and crossed the workshop again. This time, he opened a side drawer filled with oddments—partially etched cores, fractured discs, unfinished caps. He rummaged until he pulled out a smooth, hex-shaped wardstone—dull green, about the size of a brooch or crest badge. It was thick enough to hold runes, with deep grooves cut around a spiral channel, but small enough to mount on a collar without dragging it down.

  “Was supposed to be a grounded ward,” Ed muttered. “Earth-attuned. Stability class. Meant for bracing or skin-hardening—maybe both if tuned right. Can’t get it to hold a charge for more than a breath. I’ve been using it to hold down blueprints.”

  He set it on the bench between them. “If you can get it working? It’d be worth a gold bit easy. But right now it’s a dead rock. If you want to take a shot at waking it up, I’ll sell it for five silver pieces. Fair deal, considering it’s been a paperweight for six months.”

  Ethan didn’t reach for the stone right away.

  He looked at Moose. The big dog met his eyes—calm, steady, waiting.

  “If this is yours,” Ethan said quietly, “then let’s do it right.”

  He picked up the wardstone and set it on the floor between them. Then he rested one hand on Moose’s shoulder.

  Moose stepped forward and placed one paw gently on the surface of the stone.

  Ethan focused. The ability was still new, but he’d felt it before—when the caravan was in danger, when they’d fought together. He called up his mana, let it flow down the bond, and pushed—not into the stone, but through Moose.

  The mana changed as it passed through him. It slowed, steadied. Picked up the same quiet strength Moose carried in every movement. When it reached the stone, it didn’t strike—it settled.

  The reaction happened gradually. The stone absorbed the energy, settling into place like it had found where it belonged.

  The hex-stone pulled in the energy and held it. The spiral groove lit from the inside out, pulsing once, then again, then settling into a low, steady glow. For a second, it almost looked heavier—like the weight of it had realigned with the ground beneath it.

  A system message followed:

  [Soul-Bound Anchor Established – Guardian’s Heart: Moose]

  [Resonance Stabilized – Earth Alignment Confirmed]

  [Ward Classification: Tier II – Endurance Aspect]

  “Did we just make a magic rock?” Pixie asked, eyes wide with excitement.

  Buster shifted without opening his eyes. “Loud ping. Impressive ping. Still resting.”

  Ed crouched next to the stone, eyes narrowed. “That shouldn’t have worked.”

  “I wasn’t sure it would,” Ethan said. “But it felt right. Cleaner.”

  “That’s not just a charge,” Ed muttered. “It’s recycling. Holding firm. I can’t even see the glyph seams anymore. That bond’s embedded.”

  He leaned in closer, squinting. “Wish I had Appraisal.”

  “I do,” Lyra said quietly, stepping forward.

  Ed looked up at her—curious now, reassessing.

  “Mind?” he asked.

  She shook her head once, knelt beside the stone, and activated her skill.

  [Guardian’s Anchor – Earth Ward]

  [Rarity: Uncommon]

  [Effects:]

  – +15% Stability

  – +10% Physical Resistance

  – Passive Aura (10 ft): Reduces knockback and stagger chance for nearby allies

  [Bond Sync: Active only when worn by Guardian’s Heart: Moose]

  [Durability: 100%]

  Ed let out a low whistle. “That much resistance from one stone? You’d need chainmail to match it.”

  Moose stood and circled the stone once. His paws pressed firmly into the floor as he moved, drawing strength from the ground beneath. When he sat beside the stone again, his body settled with quiet certainty. Through the bond, Ethan felt Moose’s connection to the wardstone—a resonance that had always been part of him, now finding its match.

  Ed stood and reached for his tools. “Needs mounting. Collar plate, most likely. Braced at the shoulder, not loose. You want contact, not swing.”

  Amelia padded closer. It matches his eyes, she said softly.

  Ethan blinked—then looked again. She was right. The glow in the spiral was almost the exact color of Moose’s gaze.

  Buster finally stirred. “So is he officially more unmovable now?”

  Pixie spun in a slow circle. “When Moose sits down, the ground thanks him.”

  Ed had already cleared a workspace and was fitting the mounting plate—a curved piece of treated leather inset with runic anchors. His tools moved quickly, each one floating briefly above the bench before settling into his hand like they knew where they belonged.

  “This brace’ll keep the ward aligned with his shoulder,” he muttered, threading a copper filament through the base of the hex-stone. “Doesn’t need to be flashy—just stable. Something he won’t shake loose if he decides to roll over and crush a tree.”

  He was nearly finished tightening the last binding strap when the back door banged open with a shout.

  “Uncle Eeeh-eed!” someone yelled, sing-song and way, dragging the syllables like it was a jingle.

  Everyone in the room jumped—except Moose. The old dog didn’t even twitch.

  A familiar figure bounded in from the storage corridor, arms full of crate handles, hair a little messier than last time. Sam dropped the boxes with a clatter, looked up—and froze.

  His eyes went wide, darting between Ethan and the Pack, then to Ed, then back to Ethan again. His face lit up with the kind of joy usually reserved for discovering hidden treasure or free food.

  “You’re HERE!” Sam exclaimed, already vibrating with excitement. “With your TEAM! In Uncle Ed’s shop! This is the BEST DAY!”

  Ed didn’t look up from his work. “Mind the crates, Samuel. And don’t touch anything that glows.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Sam barely seemed to hear him, already moving toward Ethan with the unstoppable momentum of an enthusiastic puppy. “Are you getting something made? Is it magic? Can I watch? I’m REALLY good at watching!”

  Pixie tilted her head. “Do we know him?”

  Ethan nodded slowly. “Sam. Caravan kid. Got attached. Could not be stopped.”

  Buster cracked one eye. “Oh. That one.”

  Sam grinned at Buster like they were old friends. “Hey, big guy! You still look amazing.”

  Buster blinked slowly, clearly not impressed. “I’m digesting,” he muttered through the bond.

  Sam’s attention had already bounced to Moose—and locked onto the half-mounted stone plate. “Whoa. Wait. Is that for him? That’s his? That’s like... a magic shoulder badge!”

  “It’s a wardstone,” Ed said, still threading the last strap. “Soul-bound. Earth-aligned. Mounted for constant contact.”

  Sam leaned in for a better look. “That’s so cool. It looks like it belongs there.”

  Pixie trotted a quick circle around Moose, tail high. It does belong there, she said, radiating pride.

  Then her head snapped up. Wait—does that mean Moose is enchanted now? Can he glow?

  “No,” Moose said calmly.

  Can I? Pixie asked, hopeful.

  “No,” Moose repeated.

  Ethan sighed and ran a hand down his face. “You’re not glowing, Pix.”

  Sam blinked. “Wait—were we trying to make glowing beasts? Because I’d pay to see that.”

  Ed, without looking up, muttered, “Don’t encourage them.”

  Sam leaned in again, eyes wide. “Can he do anything cool with it? Like, stomp the ground and make shockwaves? Or—I don’t know—turn into a rock?!”

  No, Moose said flatly through the bond.

  Ethan didn’t blink. “Still Moose.”

  Pixie zipped in front of Sam. But he looks like he could! That’s the point!

  Buster groaned. “Please don’t give them ideas.”

  Ed gave the final strap a tug, checked the fit, and stepped back. “Done.”

  Moose shifted once under the collar, testing it. The wardstone rested clean against the side of his neck—angled just above the shoulder line, embedded in the reinforced leather plate like it had always been there.

  Amelia padded a slow circle around him, ears perked. It suits him, she said. He looks... centered.

  Sam beamed. “He looks amazing.”

  Ed wiped his hands on a cloth, then gave Ethan a look. “Walk with me.”

  Ethan followed him to the far side of the shop, just past the biggest bench, out of earshot from the others.

  Ed didn’t say anything at first. He pulled a slate from a drawer—etched with half-finished runes—and laid it flat.

  “You understand what you just did?” he asked.

  Ethan frowned. “I charged a wardstone. Through a bond.”

  “No,” Ed said. “You did layered enchanting. On a failed anchor. With no prep circle. And you did it through a companion.” He looked up. “That’s not basic casting. That’s high-end etching—without the etching.”

  Ethan said nothing.

  “You’re fueling stones like they want to hold it,” Ed went on. “That’s rare. Most people force it. They burn it in, or lose half the charge bleeding out through the lines.” He tapped the slate. “You gave that stone stability. With feel. That’s not common.”

  Ethan glanced back toward the Pack. Moose stood steady, his posture grounded, the stone glowing quietly against his side.

  “I didn’t plan it,” Ethan said. “But I want to understand it.”

  Ed gave a short nod. “Then come back when you’re ready to learn more. What you pulled off? Most journeyman enchanters couldn’t. And none of them could’ve done it through someone else.”

  From across the shop, Sam’s voice rang out: “Can I pet him? Is that allowed? Will it mess up the enchantment?”

  “It’s not that kind of ward,” Ed called back. “And he’s not a toy, Samuel.”

  “I know that,” Sam replied, slightly wounded. “I’m just being respectful of the magic!”

  Ed sighed and turned back to Ethan. “Five silver pieces for the stone. Two copper for the mount. Fair price.”

  Ethan reached for his pouch and counted it out without comment. The hexagonal bit felt lighter than it had earlier—but it was worth every piece.

  Ed handed over the change—two copper bits—and nodded once. “Come back when you’re ready. Not for mana trinkets. For actual work.”

  “I’ll be back,” Ethan said, pocketing the bits. The words felt right.

  Sam perked up immediately. “Wait, you’re coming back? When? I’m here Tuesdays through Fridays! I stay with Uncle Ed in the apartment upstairs.” He pointed enthusiastically toward the ceiling. “It’s cozy! Limited space, but you can see the tower gates when the weather’s clear!”

  Ethan backed toward the door. “Thanks for the help with the wardstone.”

  “We should get dinner sometime!” Sam blurted, following a little too closely. “There’s this dumpling cart that does three different fillings—chicken, sweetroot, and mystery—and they only open on odd-numbered days, so it’s kind of special—”

  Ethan kept moving. “Maybe next time.”

  Sam lit up like that was a yes. “Great! I’ll save you a seat at the dumpling place!”

  Ethan nodded without committing. “Sure.”

  As they stepped outside, Lyra fell into step beside him and glanced over with a knowing smile.

  “What?” Ethan asked.

  “Nothing… I just can’t believe I didn’t see how uncomfortable Sam made you,” Lyra said quietly. “I thought…” She shook her head. “Never mind. That’s on me.”

  Pixie bounded between them. Sam is VERY enthusiastic! Like a person-shaped version of me!

  She trotted a few paces ahead, then spun back around. We’re going to the inn now, right? Because I am a VERY TIRED WOLF-BEAST and I need snacks and bedding and more snacks!

  Buster gave a slow blink. You ate like three times today, Pix. Calm down.

  I only ate twice! Pixie shot back. And I said more! Also—you ate four times today! That’s the pot calling the kettle black and you know it!

  Ethan cut in before it spiraled. “We’re not keeping a meal tally. Tram station’s this way.”

  Moose led the way, his new wardstone catching the late sun as they moved. The glow pulsed slow and steady, like it had found a rhythm just under the surface.

  A city guard stood near the edge of the plaza, leaning against a rune-lit post with the casual stance of someone whose job only got interesting once or twice a week.

  Ethan approached, Moose at his side. “Looking for the Silver Thorn Inn. Tram line that gets us close?”

  The guard gave the group a once-over, eyes pausing on the dogs. “Lantern Row. You’re one stop off—next platform over is Line Two. That’ll drop you right at the south edge of the tier.”

  He jerked his chin toward a nearby arch where glowing copper rails disappeared overhead. “Watch the slope when you exit. It curves down past the lighting district. Inn’ll be on your left. Silver branch sign above the door.”

  “Appreciate it,” Ethan said.

  They moved under the arch and onto the tram platform. The air shifted—cooler here, with a faint charge to it. Blue-white mana lights pulsed under the floor in slow rhythm, synced with the overhead track.

  Pixie hopped ahead, tail high. Everybody keeps staring at us! It must be my beaaaaaautiful ribbon!

  Buster stepped up beside her with a tired grunt. They’re not staring at the ribbon. They’re staring at the noise.

  Pixie’s tail curled higher. Exactly. It’s part of the ensemble.

  The tram slid into view overhead—stone-framed, rail-bound, glowing faintly under its central conduit. It came to a clean stop, doors folding open with a low chime.

  The conductor didn’t even blink at the Pack. He scanned Ethan’s token, nodded once, and waved them in without a word.

  They filed aboard—Moose first, then Buster, then Pixie bounding back and forth between seats like she was scouting for optimal excitement. Amelia hopped up beside her without a sound. Lyra and Ethan took the bench closest to the window.

  The interior was wide enough for them to spread out, the benches worn smooth from years of travel. It smelled like old stone, warm copper, and faintly roasted spices from someone’s leftover food parcel tucked near the front.

  Ethan settled in, one hand still resting near Moose’s collar. The tram gave a soft hum and pulled away from the platform.

  The ride was smooth—quiet. No one stared for long.

  Ethan let his gaze drift across the city as the tram glided between tiers. For a moment, the rooftops parted and he caught sight of a massive white dome rising just beyond the council district—a landmark that stood out against the twisting cityscape. Even from here, it seemed to anchor the city, quiet and watchful.

  They passed under a lattice of archways and rune-lighted spans, gliding through the break between tiers. The Lantern Row station appeared just ahead—a wide, sloped platform flanked by public garden walls and flickering mana lanterns tucked into carved brackets.

  As they disembarked, Lyra pointed toward a side street curving down from the platform. “There. That should be it.”

  A carved silver branch hung above a clean wooden door—simple, steady, unmistakable.

  The Silver Thorn Inn.