"Elias Marlow," Aster said, "you are being assigned to merchant cross-training."
It was too early in the morning for sentences like that.
Elias blinked once. "…Pardon?"
They stood in one of the side courtyards, the kind used for drills that "didn't require screaming," as Rellin put it. The air still held a faint morning chill; mist clung to the flagstones, thinning where operatives had already walked through.
Rellin, standing nearby, choked. "Cross—? I'm sorry, what?"
Aster didn't look at him. Her attention stayed on Elias.
"You need more experience acting like a normal citizen," she said. "You will accompany Merchant Rellin on internal routes. Within Mirage only."
Rellin raised a hand. "Prime-Three, with all due respect—"
"None taken," Aster said.
"—this boy is about as 'normal' as a singing tax audit."
"Precisely," she replied. "That is why you will teach him to look boring."
Elias folded his arms. "Am I being punished?"
Aster's mask tilted. "No. You are being… padded."
He frowned. "Padded."
"Layered," she amended. "With habits. Routines. "Behaviors that do not attract Fey, Hunters, wild forests — or my personal attention."
"Do you even realize I'm supposed to be available to all Shadow Path recruits — not just you?"She asked.
Pointedly staring through her mask. Elias could almost feel the gaze boring at him.
After a small silence she continued "You are to spend the next several weeks learning trade routes, supply chains, and how to walk through a market without discovering a new branch of magic."
"That happened one time," Elias muttered. "Technically two. Maybe three."
Rellin pinched the bridge of his nose. "By the Magician's misplaced slippers…"
Aster ignored him. "Rellin. You will treat Elias as an apprentice merchant when outside official grounds. Teach him to haggle, observe, and carry boxes without looking like a cursed artifact is jammed down his throat."
Rellin squinted at Elias. "…Can he carry boxes?"
"Yes," Aster said.
Elias said nothing.
"Good," Rellin sighed. "We can start from there."
Aster inclined her head. "This will also give him legal excuse to handle materials he would otherwise steal from my archive."
"I don't steal from—"
Aster turned sharply. "Elias. If you are going to lie to me, choose a different topic."
He closed his mouth.
She stepped back, cloak settling like a final word.
"Remember," she said. "Your primary objective is simple."
"Stay alive?" Elias guessed.
"Stay out of trouble," Aster corrected. "The living part is secondary also not guaranteed,especially if I have to explain what you did to the Council again."
Rellin shuddered.
Elias gave a slow nod. "Understood."
Aster's attention lingered on him a moment longer, as if checking for sparks.
Then she turned and left them in the courtyard with a lingering sense of… supervision.
Rellin sighed. "Well, Shadow-Boy."
"Yes?"
"Congratulations," Rellin said. "You've been promoted to assistant carrot-hauler."
The Market Never Sleeps (But It Does Complain)
Mirage's lower bazaar was like a living thing.
Stalls pressed close together, cloth awnings overlapping like patchwork clouds. Voices rolled and tangled in the air: hawkers praising their goods, customers sighing, someone in the distance arguing about the comparative morality of three different cheese merchants.
Spices, boiled soap, wet stone, old metal, hot oil, old dreams. The usual.
Elias walked half a step behind Rellin, hands loosely folded behind his back, hood down, expression carefully neutral. Familiar sting in his eyes that the hood alleviated some.
This, he realized, was harder than combat drills.
"First rule," Rellin muttered without turning. "Don't stare too long at anything. Merchants can smell interest. We are predators, not prey."
"I thought we were buying things," Elias said quietly.
"We are," Rellin replied. "But we never let anyone know we need to."
A woman at a stall called, "Rellin! Back from the dead?"
"Almost," he called back. "Winter tried. I sent her the bill."
Laughter rippled from nearby stalls.
Elias watched with faint surprise as the "hopeless, terrified merchant" from the forest moved through the bazaar like someone who belonged there. His shoulders loosened; his voice gained a rhythm, his hands moved easily as he touched sacks, crates, fabrics.
Rellin came alive here.
"See that?" he murmured sideways.
Elias followed his gaze to a stall of dried herbs.
"Dust on the outer bundles," Rellin said. "Means they haven't moved in weeks. Merchant's desperate. We can get them for half-price or better."
He shifted his chin to another stall where neatly stacked jars gleamed.
"Those?" Rellin continued. "Too clean. Either new stock or someone who cares too much for appearances. On principle, we pay them last."
Elias absorbed it all.
Not just the words.
The way Rellin's attention moved.
The way his fingers tested weight.
The way his voice shifted depending on who he spoke to.
People were patterns.
Markets were patterns.
Concepts, all of them.
Spices… heat, sharpness, memory, hunger.
Cloth… protection, modesty, presentation, weight.
Iron… solidity, promise of form, willingness to take shape and hold it.
He could feel the shadows at his feet taking note too—not tugging, not billowing, just quietly mirroring his sharpened attention.
"Over here," Rellin said, dragging him toward a stall filled with bolts of fabric.
The seller, a stout man with a magnificent mustache, grinned broadly. "Rellin! Come to buy quality or just to loiter?"
"Depends," Rellin said. "Is there any quality here today?"
They bickered with practiced ease.
Elias ran his fingers over the cloth while they argued.
Rough wool.
Cheap linen.
Something silk-like but brittle.
A heavy twill that held shadow nicely when he moved his hand across it.
Interesting.
The merchant eyed him. "The boy has good taste."
"Unfortunately," Rellin said. "Very inconvenient for my finances."
"We'll take three rolls of this," Elias said suddenly, tapping the heavy twill. "And two of the cheaper linen."
Rellin blinked. "We will?"
The merchant's brows rose. "The quiet one speaks."
Elias met Rellin's eyes briefly.
"Linen for everyday wares," he said. "Cheap, easy to sell. The heavier cloth for… specialty work."
Rellin stared a long moment.
Then shrugged. "You heard him. Three and two. And if your prices start with anything higher than 'barely profitable,' I'm walking."
The bargaining began in earnest.
Elias listened.
Not to numbers.
To tone.
To cadence.
To when the word "friend" meant friendship and when it meant threat.
Every word was a lever.
Every sigh, a tool.
He filed it away with concepts like frost, fire, and silence: the shapes of human negotiation.
It would all feed his work later.
Assuming he didn't feed Rellin to Aster first by accident.
Plans on Wheels
It was near midday when Rellin finally led Elias away from the crush of the lower bazaar and toward a quieter lane that sloped toward one of Mirage's side gates.
"What now?" Elias asked.
"Now," Rellin panted, adjusting the weight of the sacks over his shoulder, "we commit a crime."
Elias paused.
Rellin sighed. "Not a crime-crime. A financial crime. Against my savings."
They turned a corner.
There, in a small open shed near the wall, sat the skeleton of a wagon.
Or perhaps "corpse" was more accurate.
The wheels were sound.
The frame needed work.
The roof did not exist.
The boards had seen better centuries.
But the bones were good.
Rellin's entire posture changed.
He stepped forward, casual grumbling replaced by quiet focus. His hand ran along the side panels, thumped the wheel, checked the axles with unconcealed familiarity.
Elias watched in silence.
"…You've had this for a while," he said softly.
"Seven years," Rellin muttered. "Bought it cheap. Couldn't justify fixing her when the Council kept routes short"
He hesitated. "Thought about selling it more than once."
"Why didn't you?"
Rellin shrugged, pretending it didn't matter.
"Didn't feel right," he said. "A wagon's not just wood. It's a promise. Didn't want to give it to someone who'd break it… or die in something I fixed badly."
Elias stepped closer.
Up close, the frame spoke to him in a language he was only starting to recognize—
Length.
Volume.
Lines where shelves could be bolted.
Nooks that could hold compartments.
And space.
Potential space.
He ran his palm along the inside railing.
The shadows at his fingertips shivered faintly.
Not reaching.
Not folding.
Just quietly acknowledging: yes, this could be deeper.
He pulled his hand back before they did anything interesting.
"Council approved this?" he asked.
"They approved me owning it," Rellin said. "They also approved me being too busy to use it. Now that you're here…"
He shot Elias a sidelong look.
"We have labor."
"Is that my official title now?" Elias asked dryly. "Labor?"
"Depends on how well you hammer things," Rellin said.
He patted the side of the wagon affectionately.
"We'll need planks. Good ones. Resin. Iron fittings. Rope. Maybe someone who doesn't overcharge for nails—rare species—but I know a few."
He trailed off, eyes distant with thought.
Elias could almost see the routes running behind his eyes.
Not espionage routes.
Not examination patterns.
Just trade.
Simple, steady trade.
He found he liked it.
"We could sleep inside," Rellin added. "Once it's done. On long routes. Keep the goods dry. Lock the wheels at night. Bolt a small chest—"
He stopped himself.
"We?" Elias asked.
Rellin cleared his throat. "You think the Council is paying for all this for me? No. You're their favorite anomaly now. I'm just the one who knows where to buy hinges."
Elias let the word "we" sit between them like something fragile.
Aster wanted him to stay put.
The Council wanted him contained.
The Fey—he didn't want to think about what they wanted.
But this wagon…
It was movement.
Direction.
A future that didn't begin and end at Mirage's inner walls.
He rested his hand on the wagon's frame again.
Later, when no one watched, he could make the inside larger.
Gently.
Carefully.
Enough to turn it into something between a wagon and a pocket refuge.
Not yet.
Not now.
But soon.
Rellin clapped his hands once.
"Right," he said. "No time to waste. We need wood that doesn't cry when it gets rained on."
"Wood doesn't cry," Elias said.
"You've never bought cheap lumber," Rellin replied darkly.
Collecting the World in Pieces
They spent the afternoon sourcing.
Not magic.
Wood, nails, resin, canvas.
Oil for lanterns.
Hooks and hinges.
Chalk and rope.
For Rellin, it was all practical.
Weight, price, durability.
For Elias, it was a buffet of concepts.
Oil… slipperiness, preservation, the way light shines differently on it.
Canvas… tension, strain, the sound it makes when wind hits.
Resin… sticking, sealing, permanence.
Nails… joining, piercing, invisible strength inside a structure.
He didn't draw any shadows.
Didn't test anything.
He just watched.
Listened.
Filed it away.
He knew now how dangerous it was to take more than he could understand. He had read the part Aster transcribed to him many times now, and words still sat somewhere at the back of his mind like a quiet warning.
Everything worth knowing carries weight.
So he watched the world, and chose carefully how much of it to pick up.
Rellin bargained a timber seller down three full coins.
They bought slightly imperfect boards that would work perfectly once planed.
A rope seller threw in extra because Rellin had fixed her axle three years ago.
Mirage was like that.
Favors and debts.
Memory and trade.
When they finally returned to the shed, arms loaded, Elias's shoulders ached pleasantly in a way that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with carrying the physical weight of his choices.
They stacked everything neatly beside the wagon.
Rellin slumped on an overturned crate.
Elias stayed standing, watching the way the light shifted through the open shed door onto the wagon's side.
One day, he thought, that light will be from somewhere far away.
One day, this will not be the end of the road. It will be the beginning.
———————————————————————
"Progress?"
Aster's voice slipped into the shed without bothering to knock on reality first.
Rellin yelped. "How do you keep doing that?"
Aster ignored him.
Her gaze went to the wagon.
To the wood.
To the small ledger Elias had started keeping of costs, materials, and projected capacity.
She picked up the ledger and flipped through it without asking.
Elias watched her eyes move behind the mask.
"Weight distribution?" she asked.
"Rellin knows the balance points," Elias said. "I'm mapping where compartments could go."
"Compartments," Aster repeated.
"For goods," Elias added.
He did not mention other uses.
Aster put the ledger down.
"Council approved this?" she asked Rellin.
"You did," Rellin said weakly. "After yelling. Twice."
"Ah," Aster said thoughtfully. "Then it must be true."
She circled the wagon once, tapping joints with the back of her knuckles.
"Your joinery is decent," she told Rellin.
"Thank you," he said, surprised.
"That was an observation, not praise."
Rellin deflated.
Her attention slid to Elias.
"You haven't expanded anything," she said.
It wasn't a question.
Elias shook his head. "Not yet."
"Good."
She paused.
Then added, almost grudgingly:
"This is… acceptable."
Rellin stared. "Did you just—compliment us?"
"No," Aster said quickly. "I'm simply acknowledging that this project keeps Elias occupied in a way that does not threaten the walls, the timeline, or our climate treaties."
She turned to go.
At the doorway, she paused.
"One more thing."
They both looked up.
"You may design this wagon as if you will use it outside Mirage," she said. "Routes, compartments, sleeping arrangements. But you will not take it beyond the valley until I say so."
Rellin looked offended. "Do you think I want to rush into the murderous wilderness?"
"Yes," Aster said. "You're a merchant."
Rellin opened his mouth, considered it, and closed it again.
Elias inclined his head. "We'll be ready when you are. "I'm also inclined to make it appear normal even under closer scrutiny…"
Perhaps expand a tiny hidden cubbie to be our hidden room and or warehouse, I believe it would make us seem more 'normal' "
Aster made a soft, skeptical sound but nodded " with mana I wouldn't dare to try and make something like tiny cubbies to the size your intending to but with your method.. perhaps. Be careful and proceed slowly"
Then she was gone.
Two Men and a Wagon Frame
By late evening, the wagon looked almost respectable.
The boards weren't all in place.
There was no roof yet.
But there was a floor.
Rough outlines of where chests could be bolted.
Rellin had argued for hooks. Elias had suggested an extra brace. They had both agreed that whoever designed the original wheel-locking mechanism had been an optimist.
They sat on the wagon floor as the sky darkened beyond the shed.
Rellin's legs dangled over the edge.
Elias sat cross-legged, back against one of the new panels, hands resting loosely on his knees.
"So," Rellin said eventually. "This is real."
"It appears so," Elias said.
"We might actually go out there." Rellin nodded toward the line of the walls, beyond which the world lay. "Not just to the ridge. Not just to Pine Hollow. Proper routes. Long ones."
"Do you want that?" Elias asked.
Rellin was quiet for a moment.
"Yes," he said finally. "I think I do. Assuming nothing eats us and we don't get recruited as Fey court jesters."
Elias huffed softly. "Unlikely."
"With you?" Rellin said. "I'm less convinced."
They sat in companionable silence.
The shadows in the shed were ordinary things. Wagon shadows. Crate shadows. Tool shadows.
Elias kept his own tightly calm, resting obediently at his feet.
For now, he didn't want them to do anything but listen.
"Funny thing," Rellin said. "If you'd asked me a year ago what I wanted, I'd have said: fewer taxes, better roads, more boring trips."
"And now?" Elias asked.
Rellin thought.
"Now," he said slowly, "I think I'd like… possibilities. Even if they're dangerous. So long as I'm not facing them alone."
Elias looked at him.
"Is that what this feels like to you?" he asked. "Not being alone."
Rellin snorted. "You? Oh no. You're like standing next to a thundercloud that's trying very hard to be a stone. But it's… different. Better than talking to my own wagon."
Elias considered that.
"I used to talk to my shadow," he said quietly.
Rellin blinked. "…Did it answer?"
"Not really," Elias said. "It just made me think it did."
Rellin nodded slowly. "Sounds like people."
They both let that sit.
Outside the shed, Mirage's lights glimmered.
The city moved on.
Inside, a half-finished wagon waited.
Not a weapon.
Not a ritual.
Not a spell.
Just a thing meant to carry goods, people, and the small, fragile hopes of two individuals who shouldn't quite exist in the same story but did.
Elias rested his hand on the floorboards.
Someday, he thought, this will be home between places.
Someday, this will be more than wood and shadow.
Someday, this will be how we leave.
But not yet.
For now, it was just another project.
Just another way to stay busy.
Just another way to "stay out of trouble."
Rellin yawned.
"Come on," he said. "If I don't sleep, Aster will make us read tax codes as punishment."
Elias stood.
They stepped down from the wagon.
As they turned to leave, the shadows beneath the frame shifted—quietly, almost shyly.
They did not deepen.
They did not fold.
They did not swallow anything.
They simply settled into the shape of what the wagon could be.
Potential.
Elias glanced back once.
Then followed Rellin toward the dormitories, cloak swinging softly at his heels, for once not trying to reinvent reality before bedtime.
The world could wait.
For tonight, he had wood-splinters in his hands, ledger ink on his fingers, and a wagon half built.
And somehow, in a life overrun by impossible things, that felt like the safest magic he'd ever touched.