Ethan didn’t move again until morning.

  Yet again, the smell of honey and warm spice pulled him out of sleep.

  Ethan blinked against the light pressing through the shutters. His limbs still ached in slow, background ways, but the fog behind his eyes had cleared. His mana bar was full. His stomach reminded him it was empty.

  Someone had pulled off his boots. The blanket had been tucked. He hadn’t done either of those things.

  He sat up slowly and ran a hand through his hair, feeling more like a person and less like a spell failure. Outside the room, he could already hear movement—clatter, bark, bounce, repeat.

  By the time he made it downstairs, the Pack was already in full orbit. Pixie was digging under a bench for reasons no one could explain. Buster had claimed two-thirds of the reading rug. Moose sat near the back wall, watching the room the same way he watched forests: quietly tracking everything.

  Mara handed Ethan a stack of cloth-wrapped bundles before he even reached the counter.

  “Four today,” she said. “I adjusted the spice again. You’ll live.”

  Ethan blinked. “That’s... generous.”

  She shrugged. “You paid for a lot of honey cakes. Just didn’t realize that meant I signed up for a second job.”

  He grinned, not sorry. “I did warn you.”

  “No,” she said flatly. “You handed me silver and wandered off. That’s not a warning. That’s a contract.”

  “Sounds like you’re adapting,” Ethan said.

  “Sounds like you’re lucky I like baking,” Mara replied. “At least I used to. We’ll see how I feel once I make a silver’s worth of these cakes.”

  Lyra passed by on her way to the kitchen, braid neat, sleeves rolled.

  “I’ve got something with Mara today,” she said. “Special project.”

  That was all she gave him. No further context. Just a passing glance and the faintest hint of a smirk before she disappeared through the swinging door behind the counter.

  Pixie exploded across the room at full speed. “IS IT A QUEST DAY? IT FEELS LIKE A QUEST DAY! OR A SNACK DAY! OR MAYBE A QUEST-SNACK COMBO DAY?! I’M READY FOR ALL OF IT!”

  Ethan shifted the bundle under one arm and sighed. “Not a quest day. I’m heading back to Ed’s. More enchanting.”

  Pixie skidded to a halt mid-zoom. “BOOOORING. You do that with your brain. That’s not even a proper thing.”

  “I’ll let Ed know you said that.”

  She rolled over dramatically. “I’m staying here. There are RIBBONS. And possibly jam.”

  Ethan looked to Buster. “You too?”

  Buster grunted without lifting his head. “No loot, no point.”

  Ethan shook his head. “Alright. Be good. Don’t break anything. And don’t teach the kids how to gamble.”

  Pixie lifted one paw lazily. “Define break. Also, does it count if it already happened earlier and no more breaks happen?”

  Ethan pointed at Buster. “Also, maybe don’t eat everything. You’re starting to look a little puffy.”

  Buster sat up, offended. “I am not puffy.”

  “You sure? You’re kind of giving off an early-stage pug look.”

  “I’m big-boned.” Buster harrumphed.

  “You’re big-eating.” Ethan teased

  Buster glared at him but didn’t argue further.

  Ethan turned toward the front, passing the desk where Jorrin was reviewing receipts and scribbling in a ledger.

  He pulled out two silver Bits from the inner pocket of his pack and set them on the counter.

  “For food. I know Buster is eating you out of house and home,” he said, tapping the first bit. “And for whatever Pixie broke. Past or future.”

  Pixie didn’t even look up. “Allegedly broke... That’s vague and can’t be proven. Only Tomlin saw me and he said he is good at keeping secrets. At least that’s what I think he said.”

  From across the room, Ethan heard Tomlin yell, “Aw mata Kupa!”

  Jorrin slid both bits into a small dish and placed it behind the front desk without blinking. “Appreciated.” Clearly amused.

  The door shut behind them with a quiet thud.

  Outside, the morning had stretched into something warm and bright. Virestead’s streets were already humming—vendors calling out over stalls, steam drifting from carts, the soft clatter of hooves on stone from a passing delivery team.

  Ethan adjusted the strap on his pack. Then he made sure his bag of holding was secure at his waist and glanced over at Moose.

  “You ready for more glyphs and lectures?” he asked.

  Moose didn’t respond at first. Just walked beside him in silence, the way he always did—eyes forward, ears slightly tilted, taking in everything.

  Eventually, Moose responded with resignation. “Better than waiting to find out Pixie broke the inn.”

  Ethan gave a soft huff of agreement. “I am pretty sure she isn’t going to break the whole inn. This time it looks like it was just a jar of jam I saw in the corner of the room with a pillow on top of it. I saw it before I left. Also, she had jam on top of one of her paws. ”

  They turned left at the market square, slipping around a cluster of halfling kids arguing over who got the last plum bun. Ethan ignored the food stall smells and focused ahead—past the linen shop, past the dusty glassblower’s window, toward the street with the faded runes over the arch.

  The same narrow stone doorway waited at the far end, its surface etched with old guild marks and a circle-line sigil nearly worn smooth by years of handprints.

  Ethan reached for the handle and pushed it open.

  Inside, Ed was already in the middle of an argument.

  “I told you last time—if the crystals aren’t fully stabilized, I’m not liable for blowback,” he said, sharp and flat.

  A town guard stood near the front worktable with his arms crossed and an expression built for intimidation. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but his hand rested close to one. His uniform was regulation—creased, clean, and too new-looking for someone who did actual patrol work.

  “They cracked again,” the guard said. “Could’ve gone bad. Someone has to be responsible.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Ed didn’t flinch. “Then stop sending half-trained handlers to jam unstable cores into rusted gear.”

  The guard shrugged. “We’ve been... flexible with you, Edwin. Friendly, even. But if your work starts making trouble, maybe that flexibility tightens up. Maybe prices change. Maybe certain protections stop applying.”

  The guard’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move. He glanced at the crate at his feet and then back up at Ed.

  “We’ll be back for the next batch,” he said. “Let’s hope the arrangement stays smooth. Would be a shame if things started shifting around here.”

  He kicked the crate toward Ed and headed for the exit.

  “Those need to be fully charged by next Flamesday,” the guard said.

  He bumped Ethan’s shoulder on the way out. The door slammed behind him.

  “How dishonorable,” Moose said, his voice flat.

  “Yeah.” Ethan agreed.

  Ed turned his head sharply. “Did your beast just talk?!” Now completely distracted from what just happened.

  “Oh,” Ethan said. “I guess he didn’t really say stuff out loud the last time we were here.”

  Ed squinted. “That’s...”

  He trailed off, caught somewhere between suspicion and curiosity.

  “I don’t know,” he finished. “That doesn’t feel like something you just forget to mention.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure how to explain it either. It’s normal for me now,” Ethan intoned.

  Ed just stared at him.

  “So,” Ethan said, “I’m an Enchanter now.”

  Ethan walked over to the crate of mana stones and picked it up, carrying it to the workbench without comment. The crystals inside gave off a faint, uneven shimmer—partially drained, a few flickering at the edges.

  Ed crossed his arms. “Well, maybe you can help by charging a few of those. I really don’t want to buy another front door.”

  “Sure,” Ethan said.

  He placed his hand over the crate, concentrated, and sent a thin, even thread of mana into the stones. Not a surge—just a steady pulse, precise and intentional. The crystals responded immediately, stabilizing with a quiet hum as their inner glow sharpened to full brightness.

  “There’s no way I’ll be getting this done by next Flamesday,” Ed said, disheartened.

  “Done,” Ethan said, not having paid attention to Ed’s last sentence.

  Ed looked up. “Wow, you did one already?”

  “No... I did all of them,” Ethan said.

  Ed sputtered and laughed. “Ha. Good joke.”

  Ethan tilted his head. “Umm. I kinda really did them all.”

  “No way,” Ed said, reaching out. “Let me see those.”

  He rushed over and grabbed the nearest crystal—then froze.

  His mouth dropped open.

  It looked like Ed was trying to open his mouth as wide as possible, Ethan thought.

  “This is even more incredible than a talking beast,” Ed said, completely floored. “I don’t even know what’s real right now.”

  “How are you not a drooling mess on the floor?” Ed asked, still staring. “That must’ve taken hundreds of mana—if not over a thousand. There’s no way. No one could even possess that much mana.”

  He still looked completely bewildered.

  “No,” Ethan said. “I didn’t use that much. Just under three hundred. So I still have plenty left in the tank.”

  Moose said through the bond. “You shouldn’t let him know about your unusual mana pool.”

  “Oh. You’re right,” Ethan answered back through the bond.

  He looked at Ed. “Um. You mind keeping all of this to yourself?”

  Ed blinked. Then shook his head. “Yeah. In fact… I don’t want to know. If you can help out around here, we can make so many Pieces from charging alone.”

  He stepped back, laughing now—not at Ethan, but at the situation.

  “In fact, I’ll take a system oath right now if you don’t charge me for helping out with that crate. I think you just saved me. I didn’t know how I was going to pay off those guards, and now? You just saved my shop.”

  Ethan hesitated. “Before I tell you anything else... I need a system oath.”

  Ed raised an eyebrow. “On what terms?”

  “You don’t tell anyone about what you’ve seen. Not the charging, not the mana pool, not Moose talking. Well—you can talk about Moose talking. With Pixie and Buster running around chatting in the inn, that cat’s out of the bag. Nothing about me or the Pack without my permission.”

  “Cat out of the bag?” Ed frowned, then shrugged and nodded once, more serious now. “Understood.”

  A soft hum passed through the air as the system acknowledged the oath. Registered. Bound.

  Ethan exhaled. “Okay. I’m not from here. I’m from a different world. I don’t know how most of this works yet. I have over a thousand mana in my pool, and I’m still figuring out what I’m even capable of.”

  He glanced at the crystals on the bench. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m trying to learn.”

  Ed didn’t move. Just stared like someone trying to piece together three different puzzles with the wrong box lids.

  Then he scrubbed a hand down his face and gave a short, helpless laugh.

  “In thirty minutes,” he said, “I’ve watched a beast talk, had my shop nearly shaken down, seen a crate of crystals charged faster than should be physically possible, and now you’re telling me you’re from another world.”

  “Yeah,” Ethan said. “It’s been a weird week.”

  “I need a drink,” Ed muttered.

  Ethan laughed. “I’m finding that’s the reaction I get when people find out any of this.”

  Moose nodded in agreement. “Jorrin did the same thing, and he doesn’t even know we’re from another world yet.”

  Ed looked at Moose again, still visibly flabbergasted that he was just... talking. Then, finally, he laughed along with Ethan.

  “I’d like to meet this Jorrin.”

  “That can be arranged,” Ethan said. “He runs the inn we’re staying at. He’ll be the one serving you the drink.”

  Ed shook his head. “Okay. New apprentice. Time to show you some enchanting.”

  Ethan grinned. “Okay. What’s first?”

  Ed gave a grunt that might have been approval, then turned away from the bench and crossed to a tall shelving cabinet on the far wall. He unlocked it with a short key twist and started pulling items out one by one.

  “Most apprentices start with fixed patterns. Basic containment. Trigger arrays. Stuff they can copy until their hands remember the lines.”

  He set a trio of smooth stones onto the workbench—rounded, palm-sized, and faintly warm.

  “But you’re not most apprentices,” he said. “So we’re going to start with what you’ll actually see in the field.”

  He moved to a lower cabinet, this one split into drawers labeled by type. Cooling. Heating. Lifting. Dispersal. The words were worn, but clear. Familiar to someone who used them every day.

  He opened the drawer labeled Heating and pulled out a small, smooth-cut red stone—then another from Cooling, pale blue and lightly frosted. He brought both back to the bench.

  Ed tapped the red heating stone first. “Most people pair these with manastones. Slot one in, it heats whatever it’s built into. Stove bases, laundry racks, kiln rings. They’re directional—low draw, high efficiency.”

  Then he picked up the blue stone. “Cooling stones do the opposite. Iceboxes. Ventilation systems. You’ve probably seen them at the inn—food crates and drink chests, usually mounted low and set into the wall.”

  He held up a pale blue shard with faint frost lines tracing the surface.

  “This one,” he continued, placing a deep red core beside it, “goes into oven bases. Heating stone. Push a bit of mana into it and it kicks up radiant heat. Stronger the flow, hotter the core.”

  Ethan leaned forward slightly. “So some stones are elemental?”

  “Mostly. Some stones bind better to certain elements than others,” Ed said. He picked up a flat greenish-yellow stone and held it between two fingers. “This one? Wind-aligned. Takes a directional push. We use them for ventilation, low-tier lift panels, sometimes even irrigation tools.”

  Ethan nodded. “And the mana stones and crystals power the other stones with enchantments that have a job or a purpose. Like that stone over there that makes light.” Ethan pointed to the ceiling at the light stone. “And the one that makes hot and cold water.” He gestured toward the sink near the far wall next to another workbench—already set with a trio of stones he now recognized as water, cooling, and heat.

  “Exactly,” Ed said. “They don’t power themselves. Each one needs a mana source—either recharged directly, or paired with a manastone.”

  He turned back to the storage drawers and pulled out a tray of crystals—uniform, cut to a standard size, some still glowing faintly.

  “Manastones are the cheap option,” he said. “Fast to charge, fast to burn out. Swap and repeat.”

  Then he moved slower. Opened a padded drawer. Pulled out a longer, clearer crystal—spiral-carved, with clean edges and subtle gleam.

  “These are mana crystals,” he said. “More expensive. But they hold shape better. Run cleaner. Some will last months—years, even—if they’re tuned right.”

  He held the spiral toward Ethan.

  “That groove? It pulls in ambient mana. Not fast, but enough to keep a ward flickering or a toilet flushing. Set it and forget it—if you get the enchantment right.”

  Ethan leaned closer. The crystal felt... responsive. It wasn’t just a power source—it was waiting.

  “I still can’t believe you charged a crate of mana stones and crystals mixed together without blowing anything up,” Ed muttered. “They hold different charges. You also managed to charge them up more than I ever could—and I’ve been enchanting for over thirty years.”