Rellin stopped Elias in front of a cracked bronze mirror bolted to the inside wall of the shed.
"Alright," he said. "First lesson."
Elias looked at the mirror. Then at himself.
"…I'm standing," he offered.
Rellin sighed. "We have so much work to do."
He stepped behind Elias and adjusted his shoulders with two firm taps.
"Stop standing like you're waiting for a verdict."
Elias frowned. "I'm not."
"Yes, you are," Rellin said. "You're doing the thing where you look composed, alert, and vaguely important. Normal people do not look like that unless they're about to be yelled at."
Elias relaxed a fraction.
"Good," Rellin said. "Now relax more."
"I am relaxed."
"No," Rellin replied patiently, "you are restrained."
He circled Elias like a tailor judging a mannequin.
"Clothes first," Rellin continued. "You dress like someone who expects to be noticed."
"I wear standard issue," Elias said.
"Exactly," Rellin replied. "Which screams 'I belong to an institution that pretends not to exist.'"
He grabbed a folded tunic from a crate and shoved it into Elias's hands.
"Put that on."
It was plain. Soft. Slightly faded at the seams. Not ugly — just forgettable.
Elias changed, studying the fabric as he did. Linen. Worn in the way clothes get worn by use, not neglect. Comfortable enough to forget it existed.
He looked back at the mirror.
"…I look like a person," he said slowly.
Rellin beamed. "Progress."
The Performance of NormalityThey spent the morning on small, maddening things.
"How to stand while waiting."
"How long to hold eye contact before it becomes unsettling."
"When to smile — and more importantly, when not to."
"Hands," Rellin said, batting Elias's down. "Your hands keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Looking like they're about to do something clever."
Elias tucked them into his pockets.
"Too deliberate," Rellin said. "Hands should look like they don't know what they're doing either."
Elias tried letting them hang loosely.
"…This feels inefficient."
"Welcome to humanity," Rellin said.
They practiced walking through the lower bazaar again, this time with purpose.
"Don't scan," Rellin muttered. "Glance."
"I am glancing."
"You're evaluating. Stop it."
A fishmonger shouted something rude at them. Elias stiffened.
Rellin elbowed him lightly. "Don't react."
"He insulted your mother."
"Yes," Rellin said cheerfully. "That's how you know he's harmless."
Elias forced himself to keep walking.
His shadows stayed still. Not suppressed — quiet. A choice, not a clamp.
Rellin nodded approvingly.
"That," he said, "is how you disappear in a crowd. You don't hide. You become uninteresting."
Back to the WagonBy afternoon, they were back at the shed, both dusted with sawdust and mild irritation.
Rellin sketched measurements directly onto the floorboards with chalk.
"If we're going to sleep in this thing," he said, "I refuse to lie flat like a corpse."
"Agreed," Elias said. "We can raise the floor slightly here. Create storage beneath."
Rellin eyed him. "No… space tricks."
"I meant physically," Elias said quickly. "Wood and braces."
"…Good."
They installed wall hooks. Then shelves. Then a fold-down bench that could double as a bed.
Rellin tested it, sat, bounced once.
"…Acceptable."
They argued about roof height.
"I'm tall," Elias said.
"You're not that tall."
"I'm taller than you."
"That's not relevant."
They compromised.
Canvas came next — stretched, treated, reinforced at stress points. Elias didn't weave shadows into it yet. He only observed how the fabric behaved. How it sagged. Where it strained.
Learning the rules before breaking them.
Rellin wiped his brow and leaned back.
"You know," he said, "most people try to stand out."
Elias secured a hinge and nodded. "So I've noticed."
"But the ones who last," Rellin continued, "are the ones nobody remembers meeting."
Elias paused.
"That's… unsettling."
Rellin grinned. "It's survival."
As evening fell, the wagon no longer looked like a project.
It looked like something with intent.
Not flashy. Not impressive.
Useful.
A place to store goods. A place to sleep. A place that belonged somewhere between roads.
Elias stepped back and regarded it.
"This doesn't feel like hiding," he said.
Rellin followed his gaze.
"It's not," he replied. "It's blending. There's a difference."
Elias nodded.
Blending was a craft.
Magic was optional.
They locked up the shed as the lamps of Mirage flickered on.
Rellin stretched.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we practice looking tired without actually being exhausted."
"…Why?"
"Because people trust tired," Rellin replied.
Elias considered that as they walked back toward the dormitories, his steps lighter than usual.
For once, learning how to be less was harder than learning how to be more.
And somehow, that felt like the most dangerous lesson yet.
——————————————————————
Following morning Rellin stopped just short of the timber lane.
"Alright," he said, handing Elias a small leather pouch. It jingled softly.
Elias took it automatically. "What is this?"
"Coin," Rellin replied. "Enough for what we need."
Elias blinked. "You're not coming?"
"Oh, I'm coming," Rellin said pleasantly. "I'm just not leading."
He pointed down the lane.
"You buy the planks. Resin too. Talk to Kessa if she's there — third stall on the left. I'll watch."
Elias frowned. "From where?"
Rellin smiled. "Nearby. Like a conscience. Or a bad habit."
Before Elias could argue, Rellin stepped aside and leaned against a post, folding his arms.
"…This feels like a test," Elias said.
"It is," Rellin replied. "You'll fail. That's fine."
Elias straightened, nodded once, and walked into the lane.
Kessa's stall was exactly where Rellin said it would be.
Neatly stacked planks. Resin jars arranged by grade. A woman in her late forties with sharp eyes and a sharper mouth.
Elias approached.
"Good morning," he said. "I require treated planks suitable for wagon reinforcement. Medium length. Low warping probability."
Kessa stared at him.
"…Do you now."
"Yes," Elias said. "Your stock appears well-maintained. I would like six units."
Rellin, watching from a distance, pinched the bridge of his nose.
Kessa folded her arms. "You're not from around here."
"I am," Elias replied honestly. "I live inside Mirage."
"That's not what I meant."
Elias paused. "Then please clarify."
Kessa leaned forward slightly.
"People don't talk like that unless they're either rich, dangerous, or trying to sound like one of the first two."
"I am not rich," Elias said. "Nor am I dangerous."
Kessa snorted. "That's what dangerous people say."
Elias considered this.
"I can pay in advance," he offered. "And I will not attempt to renegotiate after agreement."
Kessa squinted at him. "…You're terrible at this."
"Yes," Elias admitted calmly.
That earned him a laugh despite herself.
Still, she charged him full price.
No discount.
No extra planks.
No friendly advice.
Elias carried the wood back with perfect posture and mild confusion.
Rellin met him halfway.
"How'd it go?"
"I acquired the materials," Elias said. "At market value."
Rellin winced. "Oof."
The resin merchant was worse.
Elias examined the jars carefully, tested consistency, checked seals.
"You're thinking too loud," the merchant said irritably.
"I'm evaluating quality," Elias replied.
"Buy or leave."
"I would like to buy," Elias said. "But I would prefer to know why this jar is priced higher despite similar composition."
The merchant glared.
"Because I said so."
"That is not a reason," Elias said.
"It is here."
The merchant raised the price.
Elias paid it.
Rellin made a sound like a man watching someone trip in slow motion.
Later on they returned to the shed in silence.
Elias stacked the planks neatly, sealed the resin, and sat on a crate, brows drawn together.
"…I believe," he said slowly, "that I did something incorrectly."
Rellin leaned against the wagon wheel.
"Several things," he agreed. "But not the ones you think."
Elias looked up. "I didn't misjudge the materials."
"No," Rellin said. "You were flawless there."
"Then why—"
"You didn't give them a reason to like you."
Elias frowned. "That wasn't a requirement."
Rellin smiled thinly.
"It always is."
He pushed off the wheel and crouched in front of Elias.
"Look. You weren't rude. You weren't threatening. You were just… foreign."
"I am from here."
"Not like that," Rellin said. "You spoke like someone who expects the world to be logical."
Elias opened his mouth, then closed it.
"That was your first mistake," Rellin continued. "Markets aren't about logic. They're about comfort. Familiarity. The feeling that you won't cause trouble."
"I won't."
"They don't know that."
Rellin tapped Elias's chest lightly.
"You look like you're always thinking about something else. People assume that something else is them."
Elias absorbed this in silence.
"So what should I have done?" he asked finally.
Rellin shrugged.
"Comment on the weather. Ask how long they've had the stall. Pretend you care about their problems for fifteen seconds."
"That feels dishonest."
Rellin nodded. "It is. Lightly."
He smiled.
"Welcome to trade."
Elias leaned back against the crate, staring at the wagon ceiling.
"…I understand why you said I'd fail."
"You didn't fail," Rellin said. "You learned."
Elias considered that.
"I prefer learning from books."
Rellin laughed. "Books don't charge you extra for being unsettling."
They sat in companionable quiet.
The wagon creaked softly.
Tomorrow, Elias would try again.
And next time, he might even smile at the right moment.
—————————————————————
Elias tried again the next day.
This time, he smiled.
It was… a lot.
Rellin noticed immediately and stopped walking.
"…No," he said softly.
Elias blinked. "No?"
"That's not a smile," Rellin said. "That's a declaration."
Elias frowned slightly and adjusted his expression—less intensity, more… warmth. He had practiced in the reflective brass plate that morning.
"This?" he asked.
Rellin grimaced. "That's worse."
Elias sighed. "You said people needed a reason to like me."
"Yes," Rellin replied. "I did not say you should look like you're trying to adopt them."
Elias did not respond. He was already walking toward the stall.
The stall sold rope, hooks, and iron fittings.
The merchant was a thin man with a weathered face and the posture of someone who trusted neither gods nor discounts.
Elias approached with purpose.
"Good morning," he said, smiling.
The merchant paused.
"…Morning."
"How long have you been working here?" Elias asked warmly.
The merchant narrowed his eyes. "Why."
"I was told it is polite to inquire," Elias said. "Also to establish rapport."
Rellin, two stalls away, mouthed stop.
The merchant crossed his arms. "You casing my inventory?"
"No," Elias replied earnestly. "I admire your organizational system. The spacing between hooks is optimal."
"…You measuring my hooks?"
"No," Elias said. "But I could."
The merchant stared.
Elias leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice in what he believed was a conspiratorial tone.
"I am purchasing rope for a wagon. It will be used responsibly."
"…Why would it be used irresponsibly?"
Elias hesitated.
"…That is a fair question."
The merchant took a step back.
"Are you with the Council?"
"No."
"A guild?"
"No."
"A cult?"
"No."
Elias smiled again, wider this time. "I understand your concern."
That did not help.
Rellin buried his face in his hands.
"…He's doing it again," Rellin muttered.
"Yes," said a woman's voice beside him. "But with enthusiasm this time."
Rellin flinched so hard he nearly dropped the crate he was holding.
He did not turn.
Slowly, carefully, he said, "I'm going to ask a question, and I want you to answer honestly."
"Of course."
"…Are you real."
"Yes."
"…Are you masked."
"No."
Rellin closed his eyes.
"Prime-Three," he said weakly.
"Today," Aster replied mildly, "I am simply another citizen browsing hardware."
Rellin swallowed. "I don't believe you."
She stood beside him, unmasked, wearing plain traveling clothes — nothing remarkable. Brown hair pulled back, posture unassuming, the sort of woman one forgot moments after passing.
Which, Rellin knew with a bone-deep certainty, was deliberate.
"Should I intervene?" he whispered.
Aster watched Elias gently terrify the rope merchant.
"No," she said. "This is instructional."
"…For who?"
"For Elias," she replied. "And for me."
Rellin glanced sideways without fully looking at her.
"Is he… in danger?"
"Socially," Aster said. "Yes. Mortal danger? No. He is being avoided, not confronted. That is progress."
Elias paid without haggling.
Again.
The merchant slid the rope across the counter like it might bite him.
"…You're new," the man said cautiously.
"Yes," Elias agreed. "I am learning."
The merchant nodded. "Good luck with that."
Elias smiled — smaller this time — and left.
They regrouped near the wagon shed.
Elias set the rope down carefully and exhaled.
"…I believe I overcorrected."
Rellin stared at him. "You think?"
Aster stepped forward before Rellin could say more.
Elias stiffened instantly.
"Prime—" he began.
"Not today," Aster said. "I'm observing."
She studied him openly now — not for danger, but for adaptation.
"You attempted friendliness," she said. "Why?"
"You said people need comfort," Elias replied. "I attempted to provide it."
"And?"
"I believe," he said slowly, "that comfort must appear unintentional."
Aster's lips twitched.
"Correct."
Rellin blinked. "Wait, that was a lesson?"
"Yes," Aster said. "A necessary one."
She turned back to Elias.
"You do not yet understand casual human interaction. But you are learning the boundaries by impact rather than theory."
"…Is that acceptable?" Elias asked.
Aster considered.
"It is preferable," she said, "to you manipulating social behavior perfectly on the first attempt."
Rellin shuddered. "Please never do that."
Aster nodded. "Agreed."
She stepped back, folding her hands behind her back.
"Elias," she added, "today you frightened three merchants, unsettled one child, and paid too much for rope."
Elias bowed his head slightly. "I apologize."
Aster shook her head.
"No. You attempted normalcy. That is… difficult for you."
She paused.
"And you did not resort to shadow, silence, or withdrawal."
That made Elias look up.
"That," Aster said quietly, "is improvement."
Rellin stared between them.
"…You're approving this?"
"I am approving the trajectory," Aster replied. "Not the execution."
She turned to leave, blending back into the crowd with unsettling ease.
Over her shoulder, she added:
"Try again tomorrow. Smile less. Speak slower. And Elias?"
"Yes?"
"People do not need to know you are safe. They need to feel that you are unimportant."
She vanished.
Rellin exhaled loudly.
"…You know," he said, "for someone trying to stay out of trouble, you attract a frightening amount of mentorship."
Elias looked down at the rope in his hands.
"…I will attempt to be forgettable."
Rellin clapped him on the shoulder.
"Now you're thinking like a professional."
—————————————————————
Extract from Weekly Oversight ReportFiled by Prime-Three Aster
Subject: Elias Marlow
Week: Second (approaching third) since Wildlight Incident
Distribution: Restricted — Council Eyes Only
Summary:
The subject remains compliant, productive, and deeply inconvenient.
Behavioral Notes:
Elias Marlow has not attempted to leave Mirage.
He has not violated assigned boundaries.
He has not asked for permission to do anything that would require it.
This remains concerning.
He has spent the majority of the last two weeks engaged in merchant cross-training under Rellin of the Lower Bazaar. Activities include material sourcing, negotiation observation, wagon refurbishment, and extended exposure to civilian routines.
The stated goal — normalization — is progressing.
The unintended consequences are accumulating.
Observed Developments:
• Subject demonstrates rapid adaptation to non-arcane systems (trade, logistics, construction).
• Subject applies abstract reasoning to mundane problems with alarming efficiency.
• Subject continues to avoid overt use of shadow manipulation, even when doing so would simplify tasks.
This restraint appears deliberate, not imposed.
Social Integration:
Initial attempts at civilian interaction were unsuccessful.
Specifically:
Over-politeness
Excessive attentiveness
Inappropriate transparency
These failures were… educational.
By the end of the second week, subject adjusted behavior noticeably:
Reduced eye contact
Neutralized facial expression
Adopted background posture
He is learning how to be unnoticed.
This is both the objective and the problem.
Material Concerns:
The wagon refurbishment project has expanded in scope.
While officially mundane, the design demonstrates:
Advanced spatial planning
Modular compartmentalization
Load distribution beyond standard merchant practice
No illegal magic detected.
No mana fluctuation recorded.(no mana core should make it obvious but just to be sure)
Which is, frankly, worse.
Psychological Assessment:
Subject appears calmer than immediately post-incident.
Emotional regulation is improved without suppression.
Shadow manifestations are minimal and controlled.
Not absent.
Contained.
This suggests internal restructuring rather than coping behavior.
Risk Projection:
Elias Marlow is becoming functionally independent of institutional scaffolding.
He is not rebelling.
He is outgrowing supervision.
Attempts to accelerate, restrict, or forcibly redirect this process are likely to:
Fail
Educate him further
Reduce goodwill
None of these outcomes favor the Council.
Recommendation:
Continue current assignments.
Encourage boredom.
Delay confrontation.
Above all:
Do not compel him to define himself against us.
Addendum (Personal):
He is happier building a wagon than answering questions about his nature.
I suggest we allow that to continue.
— Prime-Three Aster
—————————————————————
The shed smelled like resin, sawdust, and the particular despair that came from discovering a wheel was half a finger off true.
Rellin lay on his side beneath the wagon again, one arm extended, tightening a bolt with the care of someone who did not trust gravity on principle.
Aster sat in the far corner on an overturned crate, cloak folded neatly, mask off for once, dark hair pinned back, quill moving rapidly over a stack of reports balanced on her knee. It was, she had decided, the only place in Mirage the Council never bothered to look for her, with their inane problems.
Elias held the lantern.
Quiet. Productive. Almost peaceful.
Rellin grunted.
"Pass me the smaller wrench."
Elias did.
Their hands didn't touch.
Rellin paused, squinting at the tool.
"…You know," he said casually, "I still don't understand how you managed before the Academy."
Aster's quill did not stop moving.
Elias blinked.
"Managed?"
"You know," Rellin said, tightening the bolt. "Food. Clothes. Tools. You didn't exactly strike me as flush with coin when we met."
Elias considered this.
"I don't remember ever not having what I needed."
The bolt stopped turning.
Rellin frowned.
"…That's not an answer."
Elias tilted his head.
"It isn't?"
Aster's quill slowed by a fraction.
Rellin rolled onto his back, staring up at the wagon's underside like it had personally betrayed him.
"Elias," he said carefully, "you grew up in Mirage."
"Yes."
"In the lower wards."
"Yes."
"With no patron family."
"Yes."
"And no trade."
"Yes."
"And you're telling me you never worried about food."
Elias hesitated.
"I worried," he said honestly. "I just… always ate."
Silence.
Aster stopped writing.
Rellin pushed himself upright slowly.
"…How."
Elias frowned, searching memory.
"I don't know. I'd go out. Come back. There was bread. Or dried fruit. Or sometimes stew, if I was lucky."
Rellin stared at him.
Aster's head turned—very slowly.
"You came back," Rellin repeated. "From where."
Elias opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"…Around."
Rellin laughed once. A short, confused sound.
"Oh no," he said. "No no no. That won't do. 'Around' is not a place."
Aster set her reports aside with deliberate calm.
"Elias," she said quietly, "did you steal?"
Elias stiffened.
"No. Stealing implies records of wrongdoing. I have none"
Rellin exhaled sharply. "See? Thank you."
Aster did not relax.
"…Did anyone ever accuse you of stealing?" she asked.
"No."
"Did anything ever go missing near you?"
Elias thought.
"…Not that I know of."
Rellin's smile faded.
Slowly.
Painfully.
"Elias," he said, voice dropping, "did you ever take something and have the person not realize it was gone?"
Elias hesitated too long.
Aster's eyes narrowed.
"…Sometimes," Elias admitted.
The shed felt colder.
Rellin stood very still.
"Define 'sometimes'."
"When… it wasn't noticed," Elias said "Or when it didn't seem like it belonged anywhere specific."
Rellin swallowed.
Aster leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
"What," she asked softly, "did you take."
Elias searched for words.
"…Food that hadn't been eaten yet. Tools that weren't being used. Blankets folded but never touched."
Rellin's face went pale.
"Did doors stop you?" Aster asked.
"No."
"Locks?"
"No."
"People?"
Elias shook his head.
"I didn't want them to,and I have always been fast"
Silence dropped like a body.
Rellin laughed again—too loud, too brittle.
"…You didn't steal," he said hoarsely.
Aster closed her eyes.
"You removed yourself from notice," she murmured.
Rellin turned slowly toward her.
"…That's worse, isn't it."
"Yes," Aster said. "Infinitely."
She opened her eyes and looked at Elias—not angry. Not afraid.
Calculating.
"You didn't take objects," she said. "You took access."
Elias stared at the floor.
"I didn't mean to—"
"I know," Aster said immediately. "That's the problem."
Rellin backed up until he hit the wagon wheel and sat down hard.
"…You were a ghost," he whispered pointing at him with one shaking finger " it was urban legend years back, when things disappeared without a trace all over Mirage. Rarely anything valuable or it would have been reported to the guards and council but so much and in bizarre ways that people figured out it was a work of thief of some kind and called him.. you Ghost of Mirage"
Elias flinched.
"No," Aster said immediately. "Elias, deny that. Always."
She stepped closer, voice low and urgent.
"The Ghost of Mirage stole a belt from a Councillor once. While he was wearing it. He wasn't masked — just a civilian then — but it ruined him. He spent two years hunting a myth and nearly bankrupted himself."
Her gaze locked on Elias.
"Whatever the truth is, you never confirm it. Not to me. Not to anyone. Do you understand?"
Elias nodded dumbfounded
She stood, slow and careful, like approaching something that might shatter if startled.
"Elias," she said, "do you understand that no system can defend against something it does not perceive as present?"
He swallowed.
"…Yes."
Rellin rubbed his face with both hands.
"So all this time," he muttered, "we thought you were bad at commerce."
Aster nodded grimly.
"And in reality," Rellin continued, "you never needed it."
Elias said nothing.
Aster picked up her reports again, hands very steady.
"This," she said quietly, "never leaves this shed."
Rellin looked up.
"Oh, absolutely not. If the Council finds out he survived childhood by accidentally perfecting undetectable theft—"
"They will not find out," Aster said flatly.
She glanced at Elias.
"Because if they do," she added, "they won't try to punish you."
Rellin frowned.
Aster's mouth curved into something not quite a smile.
"They will try to reproduce you."
The shed went silent.
Elias hugged his knees slightly closer to his chest.
"…I'm sorry," he said.
Rellin looked at him.
Then laughed—real laughter this time, shaky but genuine.
"No," he said. "Don't you dare apologize."
He gestured weakly at the wagon.
"You could've robbed this city blind."
Elias looked up.
"But instead," Rellin continued, "you're here arguing about hinges."
Aster nodded once.
"For now," she said.
They sat there together—merchant, mentor, anomaly—while the wagon creaked quietly around them.
Finally, Rellin muttered:
"…I am never letting you near my pantry unsupervised."
Elias blinked.
"That's fair."
Aster, without looking up:
"Locking it won't help."
Rellin paled again.
The wagon, very subtly, did not comment.