"Watchmen?" Veydran hissed, his voice pitched high enough to make his own ears ring. "Don't be ridiculous, Jhaevik! You know the watchmen don't touch zoning disputes on a Tuesday. They’re all over at the tavern by the canal. You're just trying to scare me so you can lowball me on the shipment of moon-thistle you think I’m hiding."He didn't wait for a reply. With a shove that required more desperation than muscle, he threw his weight against the heavy oak door, sliding the bolt home just as the wood groaned under Jhaevik’s weight."Veydran! You ungrateful little toad! Open this door!" Jhaevik’s muffled voice was indignant, his rhythmic pounding now a frantic battering. "I can smell the ozone from here! That isn't incense, you coward. That’s raw mana discharge. You’ve got a loose relic in there, haven't you? Trying to bypass the safety taxes again?"Veydran spun around, his chest heaving. The shop was a mess. Wisps of acrid smoke still curled toward the ceiling, and the smell of burnt

The silence that followed the departure of Osvan Malk was heavy, pregnant with the kind of tension that made Veydran’s teeth ache. He sat on the floor, his back pressed against the wood of the door, his chest rising and falling in erratic, jagged rhythms."One hour," Veydran breathed, staring at the ceiling. "I have sixty minutes before the man who effectively runs the local law decides to tear my shop apart. If he finds a dragon and a literal thunder-wolf, he won't just arrest me. He'll hang me for operating an unlicensed creature sanctuary."From behind the iron bars, the dragon let out a soft, impatient huff. The thunder-wolf, now curled into a ball, flickered with a stray arc of electricity that scorched a tiny, blackened circle onto the floorboards."Stop that," Veydran snapped, though his voice lacked any real bite. "I am already one heartbeat away from a panic-induced collapse. You aren't helping."He pushed himself up, his legs feeling like lead. He needed to tidy up, to hide

The door clicked shut, the heavy iron bolt sliding home with a finality that echoed like a hammer strike. Veydran leaned his forehead against the cool wood, his breath hitching in his chest. His heart was a frantic drum, beating a rhythm of pure, unadulterated stress."Okay," Veydran whispered, his voice trembling. "Okay. That was a collector. A literal, high-society monster-collector. Why does my life sound like the prologue to a tragedy?"Coal, the obsidian dragon, shifted on his shoulder, his scales warm and vibrating with a soft, rhythmic hum. Spark, the thunder-wolf, let out a low, static-filled yip from behind the counter.Veydran didn't move for a long moment. He listened to the quiet of the street, the distant clatter of carriage wheels, and the unsettling stillness of the shop. Then, just as he started to lift his head, a soft thud sounded against the front glass.Not a knock. Not a push. A touch.His blood turned to ice. He hadn't latched the secondary lock.The door creaked

The air in the shop felt thin, pulled tight by the heavy, velvet-clad presence of Othven Rask. Veydran gripped the edge of his counter so hard his knuckles turned white, the polished wood groaning under the pressure. High above, the crystalline habitats hummed, a dissonant chord of magical energy that seemed to pulse in time with his own racing heart."You really don't understand, do you, Master Rask?" Veydran said, his voice barely a rasp. "These aren't inventory items. You can't just slap a saddle on a storm-whelp or expect a dragon to trot along like a draft horse."Rask didn't blink. He reached out with a gloved hand, tracing the rim of a nearby jar of dried herbs, his expression one of bored, aristocratic calculation. "I don't need a horse, Veydran. I need power. I need something that can traverse the Borderlands without falling prey to the local rot. Whether it’s a beast, a monster, or an Abyssal anomaly, it’s all just equipment to me. And equipment, as we both know, has a price