Chapter 008: A Mage's Curiosity
[Waste your time, not mine.]
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{MIDDAS, SOLYRA 18, 999 — 09:31}
{RIVERIA LJOS ALF}
The first light of morning passed quietly through the high, arched windows of Twilight Manor's study hall. Riveria preferred the silence at this hour. The world was still—Loki had yet to begin her usual campaign of chaos, Aiz was likely training in solitude, and Lefiya was probably still tangled in her sheets, pretending she wasn't late again.
Riveria's fingers turned a page in the tome before her, the parchment whispering against her gloves. The ink was still fresh from the night before—her own notes on mana resonance in hybrid-element spell structures. The theory was promising, if inelegant, but her mind refused to settle on the equations. Her thoughts wandered, circling the faint noise that had been murmuring through the city since yesterday: talk of a merchant selling "divine water."
She had dismissed it, of course. Orario ran on rumors. The city thrived on exaggerated legends and wandering salesmen who claimed divine favor. Still, she disliked any topic that reached the Guild's ears so quickly.
A soft knock broke the stillness.
"Enter," she said.
The door creaked open to reveal one of the Guild's couriers—a young half-elf with sharp eyes and a stiff posture, clearly nervous to find himself before the Nine Hells' Vice Captain. He bowed deeply and held out a sealed envelope.
"Lady Riveria, a delivery from the Guild. They asked that you receive this directly."
She took it without comment. The wax seal bore the Guild's crest, and the letter within was accompanied by a folded sheet of something she couldn't immediately identify. Smooth, thin, neither parchment nor silk.
"Thank you," she said.
He bowed again and departed, grateful for the brevity of the exchange.
Riveria unfolded the sheet slowly. It gleamed faintly in the light—a printed illustration in colors too sharp, too uniform. Across the top, elegant script spelled out Solyra's Treasure Hunt — Gilford General Store.
Her brow furrowed. The "paper" had no fiber. Its surface was unnaturally even, resistant to moisture and heat when she breathed across it. Magic? No—there was no residue. She murmured a quiet Detectio under her breath. The spell shimmered over the surface, returning nothing.
No trace of mana. No divine enchantment. No alchemical signature.
Impossible.
The attached Guild report was brief and professional. Merchant: Lucian Gilford. Human male. Independent trader. Products: bottled water of unnatural purity, sealed containers of foreign manufacture. Unverified origin. Non-magical detection readings. Under observation.
Riveria read the note twice, lips thinning slightly. "Unverified origin," she repeated under her breath. "Which means the Guild has no idea where he came from."
The pamphlet depicted bizarre wares. Steel cooktops powered by no visible flame. Textiles rendered in hues brighter than any dye she knew. And there—at the corner of one panel—a massive stuffed creature, ten feet tall, smiling with vacant eyes.
She closed her own eyes for a moment. "Mortals," she muttered.
The door opened again, this time without permission.
"Lady Riveria!"
Lefiya's voice rang through the hall before the girl herself appeared, hair unbrushed, still clutching her staff as if expecting a test.
Riveria didn't look up. "You're late again."
"I—yes, my apologies!" Lefiya bowed quickly, then paused, curiosity overtaking embarrassment. "Um… what's that?"
"A Guild report."
"About?"
Riveria held up the pamphlet without comment. Lefiya stepped closer, eyes widening at the glossy surface. "That's… printed? But not by hand. And the colors—they're perfect!" She hesitated, touching the corner delicately. "It feels… smooth, like glass."
"It isn't glass," Riveria said, setting it down. "It's unlike any material I've encountered. No magic, no artifice. And yet this image—" She gestured at the illustration of bottled water. "—is precise to the point of obsession."
"Maybe it's divine," Lefiya said softly.
Riveria shook her head. "The gods wouldn't bother with craftsmanship this flawless. They'd gild it or set it aflame. This… this is mortal work. Just not ours."
Lefiya frowned. "From outside Orario?"
"Perhaps. Or from somewhere far stranger."
Riveria's mind began mapping possibilities—foreign alchemical processes, new methods of refinement, lost dwarven industries—but each hypothesis collapsed under its own weight. Whatever it was, it didn't belong. And Orario had a way of attracting what didn't belong.
She folded the pamphlet again, sliding it into the envelope with practiced care. "Lefiya, have you heard the rumors about bottled water being sold in the lower markets?"
"Yes, Lady Riveria. Aiz mentioned it too. She said the adventurers in the training district were talking about it yesterday. Some of them bought bottles and said the taste was like 'drinking from heaven.'"
Riveria's tone cooled. "Heaven. How poetic."
Lefiya winced slightly at the sarcasm.
Riveria stood, smoothing her skirt. "I want to see this merchant myself."
"You think it's dangerous?"
"No," she said. "I think it's interesting. And that's far worse."
Lefiya blinked. "Worse?"
"Curiosity," Riveria said, walking toward the tall windows, "is what leads mortals into every pit they've ever dug. The difference is that I prefer to see what lies at the bottom before anyone else falls in."
The morning light caught her hair as she turned, sharp green eyes fixed on the horizon where the city walls framed the waking streets. Somewhere beyond them, a human was selling bottled miracles, and the Guild was already whispering his name.
She would find him. And she would understand.
Riveria had just set the pamphlet aside when a voice drawled from the doorway. "Well, well, my favorite elf looks grumpy this morning. That's never a good sign. Someone misaligned the stars again?"
Loki leaned against the frame like she'd grown there, half-drunk on amusement and clearly far too awake for this hour. Her crimson eyes flicked toward the paper on Riveria's desk. "Ooh, what's this? You're collecting human advertisements now? Thought you were allergic to mortal nonsense."
Riveria didn't look up immediately. "Good morning, Loki."
"Pff. Don't sound so happy to see me." The goddess strutted inside, robes loose, hair a little wild. "You're supposed to greet me with reverence, remember? I'm your benevolent provider of headaches and miracles."
"You're certainly one of those things," Riveria murmured.
Loki perched on the edge of the table, ignoring the stack of documents she almost knocked over. "So, what's got my High Elf reading pamphlets of all things? Did some merchant finally invent a spell that kills boredom?"
Riveria closed the tome beside her, spine perfectly aligned with the edge of the desk. "The Guild sent it. It concerns an unregistered trader—human, independent, apparently selling 'miraculous' water."
Loki whistled low. "Unregistered? Bold. Usually the Guild vaporizes people like that in paperwork before they even hang a sign."
"They tried," Riveria said evenly. "He sold to adventurers. It spread quickly."
Loki leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "So that's what those idiots downstairs were talking about at breakfast. I thought they were drunk. 'Holy water this,' 'cleaner than magic that.' Someone even claimed it healed hangovers."
"I doubt that," Riveria said dryly.
Loki grinned wider. "You underestimate the power of belief. Give Orario a whisper of something new, and they'll crown it divine by supper."
Riveria rubbed her temple. "Which is precisely why it caught my attention. The product is mundane—by all measures, not magical. And yet…"
"Yet?" Loki prodded.
Riveria handed her the pamphlet. "This."
Loki held it up, eyebrows rising. "Huh. Pretty. Shiny. Smells funny."
"It's not parchment," Riveria said.
"No kidding." Loki bent it slightly. "Doesn't even crease. You could slap someone with this thing and it wouldn't tear."
"Very academic observation."
Loki ignored the jab. "And these pictures—look at that! What in Gekai is a 'ten-foot teddy bear'?"
Riveria sighed. "That was my question as well."
"Oh, come on, Rivvy, don't give me that look. You're intrigued." Loki's grin softened into something almost sly. "You only get that wrinkle between your brows when something refuses to fit in one of your little categories."
"It's called professional concern," Riveria said curtly.
"It's called curiosity," Loki teased. "And you hate admitting you still have it."
The elf shot her a withering glance, but Loki only smirked and sprawled across the couch beside the window, making herself at home in an infuriatingly casual sprawl.
Outside, the city's noise filtered faintly through the manor walls—vendors opening shop, wagons creaking along the stones, the familiar clamor of Orario's life beginning another day. Loki twirled the pamphlet between her fingers, expression thoughtful despite the mischief.
"You know," she said, "back up in Tenkai, we had stuff like this sometimes. Random objects, no mana, no divine trace. The mortals would make something clever, and we'd sit around arguing whether it counted as a miracle."
Riveria raised a brow. "You debated mortal inventions?"
"Debated, stole, rebranded—depends on the day." Loki chuckled. "Once, Hephaestus swore some smith down there built a blade sharper than any divine work. Half the council tried to summon it just to prove her wrong. Poor bastard ended up vaporized when Ares sneezed mid-ritual."
Riveria gave her a long look. "Fascinating."
Loki laughed. "You're such a snob. Don't tell me you're not tempted to march over there and pick this man's brain."
"I intend to visit," Riveria admitted, which only made Loki's smile widen.
"Oh-ho! The stoic lady of the elves going out for a shopping trip. Should I alert the press? Maybe I'll tag along—'Loki Familia supports local business!'"
"Absolutely not."
"Why not? I'm great at diplomacy."
"You're banned from three guild branches and two temples."
Loki waved a hand. "Details."
Riveria pinched the bridge of her nose. The patience of elves was legendary, but even legends had limits. "I'll go alone. Quietly. I only want to observe."
"Observe, huh?" Loki leaned forward again, elbows on her knees. "And what if he is a divine prank? Some runaway from Tenkai who snuck through a loophole?"
"I'd sense it. There's no aura."
"Maybe he's cleverer than you think. Maybe he's hiding it."
Riveria's gaze sharpened. "You're unusually insistent."
Loki shrugged. "I like mysteries. And mortals who shake things up." She flashed a grin. "Besides, it's been boring lately. No wars, no scandals, no one's set Babel on fire in months. You can't blame me for hoping someone gives the Guild a headache."
Riveria's tone turned cool. "I sincerely doubt he intends to."
Loki tilted her head. "You sound like you've already decided he's harmless."
"I haven't decided anything," Riveria said. "That's the point of investigation."
The goddess smiled knowingly. "You have, though. Deep down. You already like him."
Riveria froze mid-motion, an eyebrow twitching upward. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, come on, Rivvy. That little spark in your voice? That's you pretending not to be impressed. It's adorable."
"I do not—"
"—sound impressed?" Loki's grin turned wolfish. "You're humming, you know. You only do that when you're thinking too hard. Last time was when Aiz broke the record for spell resonance training."
Riveria exhaled slowly. "You have an exceptional talent for turning observation into irritation."
"Years of practice."
The goddess stretched, arms above her head, eyes gleaming in the sunlight. "Well, don't let me stop you. Go hunt your mystery man. If he turns out to be boring, I'll still get a laugh watching you try to interrogate someone without terrifying them."
Riveria finally turned to face her, arms crossed. "You're remarkably invested in this for someone who claims to be bored."
Loki winked. "That's my secret. I'm always bored."
The elf gave up. Conversation with Loki was like arguing with wind—it never stayed in your grasp.
"I'll return by evening," Riveria said, gathering her notes and sliding the pamphlet into a leather folder.
"Have fun!" Loki sang after her. "Bring me back one of those bottled miracles, yeah? I need it for… research."
"I'll be sure to mark it 'hazardous material,'" Riveria muttered.
"Oh, you wound me, Rivvy! You should know by now—I'm perfectly safe in moderation."
Riveria paused at the door. "That sentence disproves itself."
Loki laughed, bright and unbothered, as Riveria left the study. The echo of it followed her down the corridor like the lingering scent of mischief—familiar, exasperating, and somehow comforting.
She allowed herself a faint smile as she stepped into the sunlight spilling through the hall windows. Loki's antics might test her patience daily, but there was comfort in the goddess's chaos. It reminded her that the world—despite its absurdities—still spun on.
And somewhere out there, amid Orario's waking hum, a man was selling water pure enough to draw divine curiosity.
For Riveria, that was more than enough reason to start walking.