The capital of Shaulkkia was alive that day. The streets were overflowing with life, a river of noise, color, and movement. Merchants cried out their offers, waving bright fabrics, strange fruits, and glittering stones. Children darted between the crowd with wooden toys in their hands. Bards sat at the corners of cobblestone alleys, their flutes and lutes filling the air with a melody that blended seamlessly with the chaos. Everywhere the heroes looked, the kingdom's greatness revealed itself. Towering beastfolk bargained fiercely with dwarves over raw ore. Elves dressed in flowing silks haggled over rare spices beside humans in leather aprons. Winged folk glided down from the rooftops, carrying baskets of fruit and bread. Even giants walked carefully among the crowd, their heavy steps making the cobblestones tremble.There was no hostility. No walls between races. It was as if they had stepped into a living fairytale, a land where prejudice had no place, and prosperity was shared by all. For more than two hours, Arald guided them tirelessly. From stall to stall, shop to shop, he showed them weapons, clothes, and armors, always searching for something worthy.
But nothing seemed good enough. Until they noticed it.
Half-hidden between the black smoke of a forge and the parchment-stained walls of a scribe's shop, there stood a quiet store.
The wooden frame was dark but spotless, polished until it shone faintly in the sunlight. A wide glass window revealed several mannequins inside, each dressed in outfits that looked less like clothing and more like treasures.
Above the door, an old sign read:
"Vaelios' Atelier – Custom Equipment, Since 243 Years."
Anthony whistled under his breath.
Anthony: "Now this… looks serious."
Without hesitation, they pushed the door open.
A faint chime rang as they stepped in. Inside, the atmosphere changed completely. It was calm. Refined. Every detail screamed of quality.
Shelves of enchanted fabrics glowed faintly with embedded runes. Capes made of silk so light they seemed ready to float on their own hung neatly in rows. Armor sets of polished steel gleamed under the lanterns, their edges reflecting the light like blades. Robes embroidered with golden and silver threads seemed to hum quietly, as if alive.
The air carried the faint scent of new cloth, oiled leather, and forged metal—a mix both comforting and intimidating.
The four heroes couldn't help themselves. They scattered instantly, exploring every corner of the shop.
Max ran his hand across the smooth surface of a breastplate, his reflection staring back at him. Réhann crouched beside a pair of gauntlets, studying the delicate carvings etched into the metal. Matheo tested the weight of a heavy cloak, frowning as he tugged it upward. Anthony stood in silence before a mannequin wearing a robe so dark it seemed to swallow the lantern light around it.
Their voices filled the shop as they whispered, commented, and argued with excitement.
And then—
A sound broke through.
Creaaak.
A door at the back of the shop opened slowly. From the shadows stepped a tall man. But his build was strange—thin, almost fragile, despite his height. His skin was pale, almost wax-like, stretched over sharp cheekbones. A neatly trimmed goatee framed his chin, and round glasses magnified his eyes slightly, giving him a cold, meticulous look.
He wore dark, simple clothes, elegant in their precision. His entire presence radiated refinement, as if he himself were an extension of his shop.
The man adjusted his glasses with the palm of his hand, then spoke in a slow, deep voice:
Shopkeeper: "How may I help you… little ones?"
Max took a step forward, his voice steady.
Max: "We're looking… for something to wear. Something fit for what we'll face."
Réhann crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing.
Rehann: "If possible, something tough enough to take a hit. And… with a bit of style."
Matheo gave a shrug.
Matheo: "As long as I can fight in it… and it keeps me warm, I don't care."
Anthony's gaze sharpened as he stepped closer.
Anthony: "I want something practical… but commanding. Something that shows strength. And I need to move quickly in it."
The shopkeeper studied them in silence for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned his back and gestured for them to follow.
Shopkeeper: "Very well. Come."
He led them through the shop, past rows of armor and robes, until they reached a secluded section hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain.
The air here was cooler. Quieter.
Several mannequins stood beneath hanging lanterns, their forms covered in outfits that looked like works of art. Each set seemed to shine with its own aura, as if waiting.
The man's voice lowered, taking on a mysterious tone.
Shopkeeper: "These outfits… will choose their wearer. Not the other way around."
The heroes exchanged skeptical glances.
But the moment they stepped closer, they all felt it.
Not a voice. Not a sound. But a pull.
A strange sensation ran through them—like a whisper brushing against their minds, or a hand gently reaching out from the fabric itself. Each of them knew. Deep down.
The outfits were calling.
For Max
Before him stood a partial armor of red and black, raw and tribal. The chest was bare, except for a thick plate of leather and metal over the left shoulder. A wide belt with an engraved medallion held several short metal guards, protecting the thighs while leaving the legs free. White bandages wrapped around the forearms and ankles, marked with dark symbols, giving off an aura of wild power. It was rough. Savage. But strangely balanced.
For Rehann
His eyes were drawn to a dark set of clothes shaded in midnight blue, with delicate golden trim. The asymmetrical armor stretched across his left arm in ornate designs of azure and gold, while his right arm remained free. Elegant straps tightened around the waist, and a long cloth split at the side flowed down to his ankles. It was noble, yet martial. Refined, yet practical. The kind of outfit fit for a warrior who was also a scholar.
For Anthony
All black, with a faint shade of violet. Loose pants, light and flexible, perfect for quick movement. A fitted top that clung to his frame, highlighting muscles built for speed and precision. A dark navy belt held a long scarf, frayed at the ends, drifting behind him like a shadow. Reinforced cloth wrapped around his wrists, and his boots were soft, silent, made for disappearing into darkness. The outfit radiated menace. Simplicity mixed with threat.
For Matheo
A heavy armor of leather and steel. Large shoulder plates stood like a shield, while the chestplate bore marks of strength, slightly worn but unbreakable. Over it all flowed a long dark coat, split at the back, giving him freedom of movement despite the weight. It was intimidating. A presence meant to endure the heaviest blows without faltering. The four heroes stood frozen, staring at the outfits before them.
Each of them knew.
The one they were looking at… was theirs.
Max reached first. He touched the white bandages, and a warmth spread into his hand, almost alive.
Max (whispering): "Weird…"
Shopkeeper: "It recognizes your raw strength… and your limits. Care for it, and it will care for you."
Réhann already pulled the midnight-blue garment over his shoulders. The cloth hugged his body naturally, moving as though it had been sewn just for him.
Rehann (smirking): "Not bad, huh?"
Shopkeeper: "It is more than style. It carries wisdom and light. The ability to strike with grace."
Rehann (grinning): "Exactly me, then."
Anthony slipped into his outfit, tying the belt around his waist. A sharp tingling ran through his arms as if the fabric itself had awakened.
Anthony: "Feels like… it's activating."
Shopkeeper: "It will accept you… as long as your resolve doesn't break. Hesitate, and it will abandon you."
Anthony said nothing, but his eyes gleamed with newfound fire.
Matheo groaned as he fastened the chestplate onto his body.
Matheo: "Damn… heavy."
Shopkeeper: "It always will be. But the longer you bear it, the more it will bear you."
Matheo (grinning): "Perfect."
When they were finished, the four of them stood in silence, staring at one another.
Their appearance had changed.
They were no longer just four lost friends wandering a strange world.
They looked… like warriors. Like something greater.
From the back, Arald smiled faintly.
Arald: "You're beginning to look like real fighters. Remember, your gear will be your second skin. It will be your salvation… or your grave."
They paid for their outfits and left the shop.
At the entrance, Arald's eyes widened as he saw them fully dressed.
Arald: "Well, well… now that's a sight! You look incredible. You're ready for training."
Réhann cracked his knuckles.
Rehann: "So, when do we start? I can't wait to master every weapon."
Anthony smirked.
Anthony: "I'm going to destroy you guys. You're not ready."
Max laughed.
Max: "Keep dreaming."
Anthony leaned closer, grinning.
Anthony: "You'll see."
Matheo snorted loudly.
Matheo: "Anthony, stop. We all know you're the weakest here."
Matheo and Anthony immediately began throwing insults, their voices rising with every word. Réhann rolled his eyes, pretending not to listen.
Max and Arald burst out laughing.
Finally, Arald clapped his hands together.
Arald: "Enough! Follow me—we're heading to the palace training grounds!"