Chapter 010: Rose-Tinted Glasses
[Couldn't tell you, I just live here.]
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{TURDAS, SOLYRA 19, 999 – 07:25}
{ROSE FANNETT}
The morning air still carried a trace of cool from the night before, the kind that brushed through the city's eastern lanes and gathered around the shuttered fronts of the smaller trade quarter. Rose Fannett moved through it at an even pace, the steady rhythm of her boots marking her path from the Guild's central building toward Weavers' Lane. Most of the market had not yet opened, though the scent of damp dye and cut fabric already drifted through the streets.
Her file on Gilford General Store was thin — uncomfortably so. Single proprietor. Human male. Registered without sponsorship. Operates under independent license, selling bottled water of unknown origin. Inspected once, provisional approval granted. The notation "suspiciously high purity, pending verification" had been scrawled beside the entry in another clerk's handwriting. Eina's, no doubt.
Rose exhaled through her nose and folded the folder closed under one arm. Eina Tulle meant well but tended to attract eccentricities. Still, bottled water wasn't unheard of. It was the clarity reports that made the Guild stir. Some had described it as unnaturally pure—without mineral haze, scent, or color. That alone warranted a personal look.
She turned down the narrow lane past a line of cloth merchants preparing their morning stock. The shutters gave way to a quieter street, its stones pale from recent washing. There, tucked between a weaver's shop and a stall selling boiled starch buns, stood a modest wooden sign freshly painted in thick, deliberate strokes.
Gilford General Store.
The lettering was neat, the paint still smelling faintly of oil. Inside, a young man crouched beside a half-open crate, sleeves rolled to the elbow, dark hair pulled back enough to keep from falling in his eyes. Bottles—clear, uniform, stoppered with crisp white caps—sat in neat lines on a short counter just inside. There were far more than the Guild's records had listed.
Rose paused at the threshold, eyes narrowing slightly. The faint clink of glass was the only sound for several heartbeats.
He looked up, startled for half a second before his expression softened into polite confusion. "Morning. You must be the language tutor. I didn't think I'd put out a request yet."
Rose blinked once. "…Tutor?" Her tail gave a single, subtle flick behind her.
"Well," he said, standing and brushing his hands on his trousers, "if you're not here for that, you might be early for something else. Let me guess—inspection?"
There was humor in his tone, but his posture didn't carry mockery. Calm, measured. He was used to speaking with people who held authority, or at least wasn't intimidated by it. Rose found that telling.
"I am," she replied, stepping forward and letting the door swing open fully. "Guild business. I was assigned to verify the scope of your operation, Mister… Gilford?"
"Lucian," he corrected easily. "Gilford's the store name. Habit, not a title."
"Understood." She set her folder down on the counter and flipped it open with one precise motion. "Your last report listed fewer than a dozen units for sale. I count—" she lifted her chin toward the stacks "—eighty. Where did the additional stock originate?"
"Warehouse delivery." He spoke as if that explained everything.
Rose's ear twitched. "Warehouse?"
"Yeah. It's complicated." He leaned against the counter, expression somewhere between amused and exhausted. "But I have all the receipts, if you're worried I'm stealing water from your fountains."
The corner of her mouth nearly curved — almost. "I would appreciate seeing them."
He nodded, reached under the counter, and produced something she hadn't expected: a black, flat device with a faint glow behind its glass face. Rose stiffened. The aura it gave off wasn't magic — not divine, not runic, not anything she recognized. Yet the symbols on it shifted as he tapped the surface with practiced ease, displaying neat columns of script and numbers.
"Here," he said, holding it up so she could read. "Purchase log, dated and itemized. Two cases, scheduled arrival this morning. They showed up on time."
The records were immaculate. Each entry bore precision unusual even for a Guild ledger.
Rose studied his expression while she pretended to read. He wasn't smug, nor fearful. Just curious to see how far she'd push. "And the water itself? You're aware of Guild import laws concerning consumables?"
"I am now," he said with disarming honesty. "Though I'll admit I didn't realize I'd be getting a personal visit this soon."
"That's because you've caused a stir." She closed the folder softly. "Reports are circulating about the clarity of your merchandise. People are calling it 'divine water.' I assume that was not your marketing."
He gave a quiet laugh. "No. I'm not that creative."
For a moment, the shop was still save for the faint creak of cooling wood. Rose inhaled, the scents in the air sharp and distinct — oil paint, fresh wood varnish, and a clean tang that could only have been the water itself. Not river, not well, not filtered by magic. Just… pure.
She glanced back toward the stacked bottles. "And how many of these remain from your previous shipment?"
He hesitated. "Seven. Well, six and a half. Someone opened one, and I can't sell opened bottles."
"Understandable."
"I'm thinking of charging a fee just to look at them next time," he added dryly. "Fifty Valis per inspection. Seems fair."
Rose gave a soft exhale through her nose that might, in another life, have been a laugh. "I see Eina's report understated your sense of humor."
"Eina?" he asked, then smiled faintly. "Ah. The half-elf. She's the one who warned me you'd be coming, right?"
"Not in so many words," Rose replied. "But she did seem concerned that you might be operating without awareness of certain regulations."
He folded his arms loosely. "Then you can tell her I'm doing my best to stay on the right side of the law. I like sleeping indoors too much to risk that."
Rose made a note in her file without comment. Her quill scratched across the paper, recording: Stock verified. Source uncertain but plausible. Proprietor cooperative. Possible anomaly in production method—no immediate threat detected.
After a pause, she closed the file and tucked it under her arm. "You'll hear from the Guild again soon. For now, keep your receipts, and refrain from distributing beyond your registered volume."
Lucian nodded once. "Got it. No world domination via bottled water. Promise."
Her gaze lingered a moment longer than protocol required. "See that you don't."
Then she turned and stepped out into the light, tail flicking once before settling again as the morning crowd began to fill the lane behind her. The air was brighter now, and the faint sound of conversation rose from the nearby stalls — a market already humming with new rumors.
If half the stories Eina had heard were true, Rose suspected this human's little shop would not stay quiet for long.
The walk back to the Guild carried the slow, rhythmic pulse of the city awakening. The sun had climbed higher, burning through the pale morning haze and scattering light across the tiled roofs and weathered facades of the east quarter. Stalls opened one after another with the creak of hinges and the dull thud of crates being set down. Vendors barked greetings. Someone argued over the price of onions; another sang softly as they swept the front of a bakery. The sounds wove into a steady current of life that filled the street from wall to wall.
Rose moved through it like a blade through water — silent, smooth, leaving ripples in her wake. People instinctively stepped aside without realizing they had done so. A few glanced up as she passed — the ears, always the ears, catching attention before the eyes settled on the crimson hair and crisp Guild uniform. Those who recognized the insignia at her collar dipped their heads or muttered polite greetings. Those who didn't, simply moved faster to clear the path.
She neither encouraged nor discouraged it. Respect and fear were siblings in Orario, and the Guild's emblem tended to blur that line.
Her thoughts lingered on the shop she'd just left. Bottled water wasn't remarkable; the city's fountains, wells, and aqueducts supplied more than enough for daily needs. Yet that liquid — so clean it refracted sunlight like cut glass — had unsettled her. It was too pure, too consistent. Magic could filter impurities, but even the best water mages left traces of mana. That water carried none.
Warehouse delivery, he had said. As though that explained everything.
She'd caught the hesitation when she asked about source and regulation. Not guilt — uncertainty. The human was out of his depth, but not deceitful. His tone, his eyes, even the way he leaned against the counter rather than behind it had all spoken of someone improvising in good faith. Or perhaps good humor.
Her tail flicked once, betraying a thought she didn't voice. The device he used — the small glowing pane — hadn't been magic. She would have known. Its energy felt muted, restrained, yet perfectly stable. Nothing divine, nothing elemental. An artifact? No. Artifacts breathed; they pulsed with residual enchantment. His had hummed softly like something asleep.
The Guild would want a full description. Eina's report had already drawn whispers. Some were calling it "foreign technology," others muttering about the possibility of a god's toy gone astray. Both explanations were equally unsatisfying.
As she crossed into the central district, the buildings rose taller, the streets wider, paved in darker stone that held the day's warmth. The scent of dust gave way to metal polish and parchment — signs that the administrative quarter was waking up as well.
She adjusted her pace, straightening her uniform jacket and smoothing a crease in her sleeve. Protocol demanded composure. The Guild headquarters loomed ahead, its broad façade cut from pale limestone that gleamed under the growing light. Two adventurers loitered near the steps, muttering over quest slips; they stopped talking entirely when she approached, one offering a stiff bow that she acknowledged with a curt nod.
Inside, the marble floor caught the light from high, arched windows, throwing faint reflections across the polished surface. Clerks bustled at their desks, shuffling ledgers and murmuring about permits and Familia registrations. The familiar sound of quills scratching paper filled the air — her soundscape, constant and oddly comforting.
Her heels clicked a measured rhythm toward the inner offices. A few younger receptionists paused to glance up at her, their conversations faltering for a breath before resuming in quieter tones. Rose ignored them. Her reputation was neither cruel nor soft, merely exacting. Those who worked here long enough learned that precision was its own kindness; chaos, in her view, was the worst cruelty of all.
She reached her desk — one of the side offices reserved for field inspectors — and set her folder down atop the others stacked in neat order. The room smelled faintly of parchment, tea, and the faintest trace of silver polish from the decorative trim that lined the shelf above her workspace. Everything in its place, everything accounted for.
Removing her gloves, she sank into the chair, the wood creaking faintly under her weight. For several seconds, she simply sat, staring at the single line she'd scrawled at the end of her inspection report: Source uncertain but plausible. The words irritated her. They were incomplete, inconclusive — the kind of phrasing she avoided unless absolutely necessary.
She reached for her pen, tapping it once against the desk before continuing the note in tidy script:
Merchant appears genuine. No signs of smuggling or falsified goods. Further inquiry recommended regarding artifact-level device used for recordkeeping. Request technical analysis pending confirmation from Eina Tulle.
She paused, set the pen down, and exhaled slowly.
There was a certain weight in handling anomalies — the Guild didn't like things it couldn't catalog. Every new variable became a potential liability. But this one didn't feel dangerous, just… misplaced. Like an item delivered to the wrong shelf.
Her gaze drifted briefly toward the tall window behind her desk. The view offered a slice of Orario's skyline — stone rooftops, distant towers, the faint shimmer of the Tower of Babel rising at the city's heart. Beyond that, the Dungeon. Always there, always humming beneath the surface like a second heartbeat.
She rubbed her thumb over her knuckle, a habit she rarely noticed anymore. "Divine water," she murmured under her breath, the words tasting faintly bitter.
The idea of divinity tied to something that clean felt wrong. Gods never left perfection; their blessings always came with excess — too bright, too vivid, too overwhelming. That water, by contrast, had no weight of divinity. It was mortal in the purest way possible.
Her tail brushed lightly against the side of her chair. For some reason she couldn't articulate, that thought unsettled her more than the mystery itself.
A knock at the doorframe pulled her from her thoughts.
"Back early, Rose?" a familiar voice asked.
Eina Tulle leaned in, holding a stack of sorted permits. The half-elf's expression carried that blend of curiosity and cautious optimism that Rose found alternately endearing and exasperating.
Rose gestured for her to enter. "Inspection completed. I've filed the preliminary report."
"That fast?" Eina stepped closer, placing the stack on the side table. "And? What did you think of him?"
Rose considered the question, then reached for her teacup instead of answering immediately. The liquid had cooled, leaving a faint ring on the desk where she'd forgotten it earlier.
"…Unusual," she said finally. "But not dangerous."
Eina's brow furrowed slightly. "Unusual how?"
"The kind that doesn't fit in a report."
Eina smiled faintly. "That's your way of saying you like him."
Rose's ears twitched. "It's my way of saying I don't understand him yet."
"Mm," Eina hummed. "That's still progress."
Rose let the comment hang, neither denying nor confirming. Outside, the city bells tolled eleven, their resonance carrying through the high windows.
There would be more reports to write, more inquiries to send. But as she turned back to her desk, the faint scent of clean water lingered in her mind — sharp, pure, impossible to forget.