I returned home with light steps and a heavy bag of herbs. Heavy not because its contents were important—oh no, I didn't even need all of them. But if you get the chance to manipulate a situation for a bit of gain, who am I to refuse? My pockets may not be as big as Benard's, but my plans? Far deeper. After that strange incident in the forest—and as a form of "unspoken compensation"—I'd turn part of these herbs into medicine for Benard to sell. Of course, I'd take my cut. I never play for free.
The moment I stepped inside, the scent of firewood and healing oil greeted me. Rima, my teacher, was arranging potions on the table when I walked in. Her eyes narrowed at the size of my herb bag.
"More than usual."
"I've got a partner," I answered quickly, grinning. "He tripped on the way, so I tripped his bag instead."
Rima raised an eyebrow. "Always be careful, Shinna."
"My style is careful chaos. Makes me hard to predict, right?"
We got to work processing the herbs. The room filled with warm earthy steam, the smell of cinnamon, and something sharp but soothing. I sliced roots while Rima ground up dried leaves. Liquids were bottled, herbs dried and weighed. It wasn't easy work, but this was how we lived—selling remedies, healing the weary, and poisoning those who didn't play by the rules.
"So," Rima said, stirring a mixture, "this partner of yours… trustworthy?"
"Depends. For big things? Probably not. But for carrying herb bags and tripping over his own feet? Absolutely."
She let out a short laugh. Our relationship was like an overcooked potion—never explosive, but always simmering. Once everything was finished, we lined the bottles up neatly. Rima yawned and looked at me for a long moment, then turned toward her room. That look—quiet but full of meaning—translated to: Don't do anything stupid tonight.
I replied in my head: Oh, I absolutely will.
The moment her door shut, I slipped out like a shadow that knew the way. Night adventure begins.
First stop: the haunted house. In the daylight, it just looked old and neglected. But at night? Everything changed. Moonlight traced its cracked walls, and the wind sounded like whispers. I even felt eyes watching me from the upper window—despite there being no glass. Delightful.
The old chapel was next. It was more boring than I expected. Even the shadow-creatures that sometimes crept in the corners were absent. Maybe they were on vacation. Or maybe they were scared of me. Good.
The northern forest was my favorite. The trees there looked like they were breathing. A thin mist flowed between roots like curious spirits. I stood at the edge of the ravine, staring across. Through the curtain of fog, I saw… something. Or someone. Lying still, like asleep. Too far to see clearly. Too real to be imagined. But I didn't cross.Not yet.
I returned to the village. The men sat sipping warm drinks, pretending to be serious but easily startled. Women and children were already home. From some open windows, I could hear bedtime stories. One of them caught my ear.
A young witch, they said, was cursed to carry disease. The villagers panicked, and—true to classic human instinct—they hunted what they didn't understand. The girl was chased like a deer. In the end, she died in the embrace of an old tree's roots. A sad tale, they said. I just snorted.
"The modern version's been revised. Sweeter, more reasonable, and with a lot more singing. Thanks, Disney."
The night fog began to thicken. Time for fun.
I put on a little show at the village edge. Moving shadows, snapping twigs, and the occasional wolf howl—clearly pre-recorded. I saw a few village guards glance at each other nervously. Satisfying.
Finally, I returned home, slipped off my shoes without a sound, and snuck back inside. Tonight's adventure was over.
But tomorrow?
Tomorrow, maybe I'll cross that ravine.
Who knows what sleeps over there.
****************************
Morning greeted me with the gentle aroma of freshly brewed herbal tea. Rima, my mentor, sat at the small wooden table in the kitchen, slicing yesterday's stale bread for today's breakfast. I yawned, fixing my hair as I sat across from her. The kitchen was bathed in warm morning light and the scent of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling.
"Rima," I began, spooning warm soup into a bowl, "do you think a witch could cause a massive fluctuation in magical energy?"
Rima glanced at me, her eyes calm as always, then returned to her bread. "Yes. But I've never seen it firsthand. A sane witch wouldn't flaunt their power like that. That kind of energy only shows up during battle... or when they're on the brink of death."
I raised an eyebrow. "So only two options? Fight or die? What a dramatic life a witch leads."
Rima merely shrugged.
"But what if the witch is very skilled," I teased, "able to hold that much magical energy and still hide it?"
This time, Rima actually stopped eating. She stared at me, as if trying to decide whether I was testing her or just talking nonsense this early in the morning. "That's not possible. No one can do that. Holding that much power without being noticed... their body would tear itself apart from the inside."
I leaned back in my chair. "Ah, but you're wrong. It's not impossible—just hasn't happened yet. Could be done with a tool, a ritual, some external power, or... losing oneself."
My tone dipped slightly at the last suggestion. Rima turned her face away, her expression clouding over. "Losing oneself... that's possible. But very dangerous."
I tilted my head, hiding a small smirk. "So I'm right. Again."
"Why are you suddenly talking about this?" she asked, voice neutral, but her eyes studying me closely.
I answered half-truthfully. "Because I feel like something big is hiding behind the fog... and I'm not a fan of surprises without warning."
Rima was quiet for a moment, then admitted softly, "I... haven't studied something like that deeply."
I almost choked on my soup. "Wow. You're actually admitting there's something you don't know? The world really is changing."
"Everyone is always learning," Rima murmured.
I laughed. "Even the village idiots who think herbal tea can cure stupidity. Sadly, we've yet to find a potion for that."
Rima didn't respond. But the look in her eyes said my comment wasn't entirely wrong.
That day, I went out as Joul—Rima's calm and somewhat clever sister. My old disguise still worked, though today I felt more annoying than usual. This village... it was too peaceful. Too orderly. The people like machines programmed to greet, smile, and sell. The streets were filled with the scent of firewood, the chime of vegetable carts, and the shrieks of children playing in the mud.
I stopped by the baker and bought a rock-hard loaf of bread—useful as an emergency weapon. Then visited the clothmaker, who wouldn't stop going on about how beautiful his new deep purple dye was. I nodded, then quipped, "Beautiful—if you're colorblind."
"Ah, Uncle Rollo! Your smoked fish looks fresh today!"
"Of course it does! But it's not free, Miss Joul."
"Oh, of course not. But maybe a small discount for a face this charming?"
We laughed. I bought a few supplies, sprinkled in flirtatious comments, and complimented the housewives' goods. It was all just a fun little game.
A woman tapped my shoulder. "Joul, you should marry soon. The men are losing patience."
"I want them to keep hoping, Ma'am. That's the charm."
After a few rounds of small talk and polite pretending, I finally slipped away to the place I'd really been waiting for—a dusty old tavern at the edge of the village.
Benard was already inside, sitting in a dimly lit corner. I approached, now disguised as a plain-looking young man in a common cloak, and took the seat across from him.
"I'm keeping my promise. I'm here to collect yours."
Benard nodded, eyes tired. "Yeah, yeah. Sit down."
We ordered food. I opened with some chatter about tomorrow's herbal delivery, playing the part of an expert merchant. "The medicine's effective, of course—crafted by trusted hands. You'll get your share."
"Thanks," he replied flatly.
I scoffed. "That's it? That's your response?"
Benard looked at me briefly. "Sorry. I'm just... empty today."
Your emptiness is annoying, Benard.
I sipped my drink and glanced around the tavern. Drunks laughed loudly, enjoying the bartender's off-key singing. I smiled slyly, laced a bit of magic into my voice, and whispered a tiny spell—one that would turn into insults in their ears.
"Did you just say I'm bald?!"
"You calling my wife ugly?!"
Chaos erupted.
Two drunkards jumped to their feet, pushing each other. Chairs crashed, glasses shattered, and the tavern owner screamed as he kicked them out in a fit of rage.
Benard stared at me, stunned. "What just happened?"
I shrugged and gave an innocent smile. "You know how alcohol shortens tempers."
Then I continued our lunch with a lighter tone, trying to keep the conversation going. But my soul was already tired. There was no spark from Benard today. No fire. No resistance.
And I… hate discussing big things with people who've lost themselves