Tamsin led her to a stall that didn’t shout for attention with tassels and flags like some others. Just clean wood, organized shelves, and a man with watchful eyes.

  Auburn hair, a little too long but tied back neatly. Late thirties, maybe. He had a wide, friendly face. The sort that invited you to smile with him.

  “Tamsin,” he said, smiling easily. “If you’ve come to bankrupt me again, at least warn me first.”

  “You survive every time,” she replied. “Corven, this is Miri.”

  Corven’s gaze moved to her, then to Tony, then back to her. “Adventurer?” he asked.

  “Trying,” Miri said.

  “Good. Trying is profitable.”

  Tony leaned his enormous head against the edge of the counter.

  Corven glanced at him thoughtfully. “I assume he doesn’t chew on merchandise.”

  “Only if it offends him,” Miri replied.

  “Then we’ll avoid offense.”

  Tamsin rested an elbow on the counter. “She’s back from a week out. Has product.”

  That sharpened Corven’s attention just slightly. “Ah,” he said. “Then let’s not discuss it out here.”

  He lifted a canvas curtain behind him and gestured them through.

  The private booth was small but clean. One narrow table. Two benches. Nothing else. The air held the faint scent of cedar and parchment.

  “Take your time,” Corven said, closing the curtain behind them and a light flared from his hands. “Nothing leaves this room without your consent.”

  Miri hesitated only a moment, her Mana Sense tingling at the oath, before opening her inventory. The table filled.

  Boar hide. Thick, supple, already processed clean.

  Marsh tusks. Pale and curved.

  Rendered fat sealed in neat alchemy jars.

  River liscamp scales that caught the light in oily greens.

  Rock rat pelts.

  A sealed vial labeled in familiar handwriting: Fairy wing dust residue.

  Minor charms in small cloth pouches.

  Basic mana tonics.

  Common skill books.

  It kept coming.

  Corven blinked once. Just once. “Busy week,” he murmured.

  Tony lowered his nose toward the pelts, then sneezed. Miri stood back and looked at the spread.

  It was… a lot.

  A month ago she’d been a girl who barely knew the basics of how to swing a sword without falling over.

  Now she had proof. Proof she’d survived. Proof she’d won.

  Miri inhaled and glanced at Tamsin. “Sell it.”

  Tamsin smiled and stepped forward with a gleam in her eye that had nothing to do with magic.

  She rolled her shoulders once like a duelist loosening up. Corven folded his hands in front of him. Tamsin didn’t sit — she leaned forward, hands on the table.

  “Boar hide, prime cut. Thirty.”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Don’t insult me.”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Marsh tusks included.”

  “Separate pricing.”

  “Bundle.”

  Corven exhaled through his nose. “You always bundle.”

  “You always pretend not to like it.”

  They moved faster after that—half-words, gestures, quick nods.

  “Scales, lot price.”

  “Too many imperfections.”

  “They’re river-grade.”

  “Fine. Add the pelts.”

  “Done.”

  Miri’s eyes darted back and forth, watching the haggle battle like an avid sportsfan.

  Tony yawned.

  It was over in 2 minutes.

  Corven straightened. “Fair value. Favorably weighted toward repeat customers.”

  Tamsin gave him a thin smile. “As it should be.”

  He slid a credit chit across the table. “Congratulations,” he said to Miri. “You are officially profitable.”

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  She pocketed the chit with thanks and added it to the total in her inventory. She wasn’t rich, but she had plenty to spend.

  Tamsin did take a seat then, so Miri followed and they both folded their hands on the table. Tony stayed sprawled on the floor.

  “All right,” Corven said. “Before you start buying things you don’t actually need—what do you suck at?”

  Miri blinked. “That feels aggressive.”

  “It’s realistic,” Tamsin allowed.

  Miri shifted on the bench. Tony lay behind her, chin on his paws, listening like this was a town council meeting. Corven leaned back, listening.

  Tamsin pointed at Miri first. “You stand inside the problem. You don’t kite. You don’t stay back. You step in, shield up, blade ready.”

  Corven tilted his head. “And you likely don’t panic when things go wrong. That’s worth more than damage.”

  Miri considered that. “I don’t have huge damage.”

  “No,” Tamsin agreed. “You don’t. You have control. You don’t waste motion. You don’t waste mana. You keep fights from spiraling.”

  Corven tapped the table lightly. “If something spits acid on you?”

  “Shield,” Miri said automatically.

  “And if it lands anyway?”

  “Cleanse.”

  “If something blinds you?”

  “Cleanse.”

  “If you take a minor poison?”

  “…Cleanse.”

  Corven smiled. “You erase problems before they stack. That keeps you alive longer than people who only know how to explode things.”

  Miri grimaced. “I don't end fights quickly but I’m working on it.”

  Tamsin nodded and continued, matter-of-fact. “You handle one enemy well. Two if they aren’t coordinated. Three, and you start spending too much mana just staying upright.”

  “You've been talking to Grath a lot then,” Miri muttered.

  Corven turned to Tamsin. “And you?”

  Tamsin didn’t hesitate. “I move the fight.” She tapped the table with two fingers. “If something charges, I push it sideways. If something flanks, I break the angle. If something hides, I strip the dust off it.”

  “Makes people trip over their own feet,” Corven added.

  “I don’t take hits well,” Tamsin said plainly. “I don’t plan to.”

  Miri frowned. “You’re not fragile.”

  “I’m not built to stand there and trade blows,” Tamsin corrected. “If something locks me in place, I’m in trouble.”

  Miri nodded slowly.

  Tamsin gestured between them. “I create openings, you punish them.”

  “If I shove something off balance,” she said, “you step in and commit.”

  “If she’s pressured,” Corven added, “you peel.”

  Tamsin nodded. “Exactly.”

  Miri exhaled. “So we’re… functional.” It was a relief to hear she and Tamsin complimented each other more than not.

  “You’re a good pair,” Corven said. “Not complete. But good.” He ticked points off on his fingers. “You don’t have a true tank. If something enormous decides to ignore you both and just swing, neither of you is meant to absorb that long-term.”

  Corven glanced at Tony. “He’s muscle. He’s not trained to hold a line.”

  Miri scratched behind Tony’s ear defensively. “He’s learning.”

  “And he will help,” Tamsin said. “But we cannot build a plan around ‘tiger solves it.’”

  Miri sighed. “Fine.”

  “You also don’t have real healing,” Corven continued. “Potions restore. Charms patch. But neither of you regenerates wounds mid-fight.”

  “And we don’t have hard control,” Tamsin added. “No roots. No stuns. No walls.”

  “So if we get swarmed,” Miri said slowly, “we’re in trouble.”

  “If you get swarmed,” Tamsin corrected, “we run.”

  That made Miri look up.

  “We are not going dungeon diving,” Tamsin said evenly. “We are traveling a long road. Ambushes. Bandits. Monsters that wander too close to the path. We need to survive unpredictability, not siege a fortress.”

  Corven leaned back. “So. What fills the gaps?”

  Tamsin began counting. “Emergency healing. More than we think we’ll need.”

  “Agreed,” Corven said.

  “Speed charms,” she continued. “Short bursts. If we need to disengage.”

  “Good quality ones,” Corven said. “Not the cheap sprint-and-collapse variety.”

  “Look-at-me-not amulets,” Tamsin added. “Temporary misdirection. Even three seconds of confusion buys positioning.”

  Corven tapped a knuckle against the table. “Impact dampening charm. Single-use. If something larger than sense hits one of you.”

  Miri swallowed. “That sounds expensive.”

  “It is,” Corven said cheerfully.

  He reached beneath the table and drew out a narrow wooden case, setting it between them. “Let’s talk refinement.” He flipped the lid open. Inside, several slim skill books rested in neat rows.

  “Nothing legendary,” he said mildly. “But solid.” He slid one toward Miri.

  “Sidestep. Short lateral displacement. Clean, efficient. Saves ankles. Saves lives.”

  Miri eyed it. “How far?”

  “Five paces at your level. More as you grow.”

  She imagined stepping sideways out of a charge instead of bracing for it. “…I like it.”

  Corven nodded and turned another book toward Tamsin. “Mark Line. Temporary target designation. Makes your enemies easier to track. Easier to punish.”

  Tamsin’s eyes sharpened. “Duration?”

  “Short. But enough.”

  She glanced at Miri. “If I tag something and shove it off balance—”

  “I commit,” Miri finished.

  Corven smiled faintly. “Exactly.”

  Tamsin tapped the cover once. “We’ll take it.”

  Corven closed the case and set it aside. Then he was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the table as he thought.

  “Traveling north?” he asked casually.

  “Yes,” Tamsin said.

  “Long road,” he added.

  “Yes.”

  He studied her face, something softer flickering there. Without another word, he reached into a small black pouch at his belt. From it, he withdrew a charm carved from dark crystal, etched with a tight, precise rune. He placed it on the table.

  Tamsin took one look at the rune and her expression changed.

  “We’ll take it.”

  Miri blinked. “What is—”

  “Put it on the total,” Tamsin said evenly.

  Corven nodded once. “Of course.” He didn’t smile this time.

  And neither did she.