The Beast Tamer's Unwanted Nursery

Supplier And Secret

The silence of the shop was no longer the oppressive, sulfur-tinged weight of terror; it was a hungry, vibrating stillness. Veydran sat behind the counter, staring at the two predators caged in the center of the room. The obsidian dragon, which he had mentally dubbed 'Coal,' was currently sharpening its claws against the magically-hardened iron bars. Beside it, the thunder-wolf, now known as 'Spark,' was pacing in a tight circle, its fur crackling with an audible, rhythmic snap-pop-snap.

"You’re both insatiable," Veydran muttered, rubbing his temples. "I gave you the last of the salted jerky an hour ago. You’re not supposed to be burning calories this fast."

The dragon let out a low, dissonant trill and nudged the iron bar with its snout. It wasn't a growl; it was a demand.

"I know, I know," Veydran sighed, pulling up the flickering blue interface of the System. "I’m looking, aren't I? But the standard 'Beast Pellets' you two are eating are practically cardboard for your metabolisms. I need something with actual mana density."

He swiped through the merchant catalog, his face grimacing as he saw the prices. Everything high-grade was locked behind a trade-reputation wall or required a vendor license he didn't possess.

"System," Veydran whispered, "show me the supply status for Abyssal-tier proteins. And don't give me that 'Out of Stock' message again."

[NOTIFICATION: Local regional suppliers currently show zero inventory for Abyssal-class sustenance.]

"Great. Fantastic. We’re going to starve, or worse, you’re going to start eating my display shelves again," Veydran complained, his voice rising.

Just then, the bell above the door chimed—a sharp, brassy sound that cut through the low-level crackling of the wolf's static. A man stepped in, dressed in fine, velvet-lined robes that screamed of overpriced imports. It was Mavrek Kess. He looked at the wreckage of the shop, his lip curling in a display of practiced, aristocratic disdain.

"Well, well, Veydran," Mavrek drawled, stepping gingerly over a pile of broken glass. "I heard the local knight was here. I assumed he’d have shuttered this pathetic excuse for a business by now."

Veydran stood up, his heart sinking. "Mavrek. To what do I owe the pleasure of your unwanted presence? I’m busy."

Mavrek sauntered toward the counter, his gaze sweeping over the cages. His eyes narrowed, catching the faint, shimmering glow of the iron bars. "Busy? You look like you’re running a kennel for stray demons. Is that a dragon-kin I see? And a storm-whelp? My, my. You really have lost your mind, haven't you?"

"Get out, Mavrek," Veydran said, his voice flat. "I don't have time for your insults today. I have a shop to run."

Mavrek laughed, a thin, nasal sound. "Run? Is that what you call this? I’ve already put the word out to the regional distributors, Veydran. They aren't going to supply your little dungeon. No more moon-thistle, no more dragon-pellets, and certainly no exotic feeds. You’re being phased out. Consider this your early retirement."

Veydran’s blood ran cold. "You contacted the distributors? You sabotaged my supply lines over a petty price war?"

"It’s not personal, Veydran. It’s business," Mavrek sneered, leaning over the counter. "The district doesn't need two shops. And yours is, quite frankly, an eyesore. I suggest you pack up your little monsters and leave before the Guild Master comes to see what kind of illegal trash you’re hoarding."

"Illegal?" Veydran forced a cold, sharp smile. "You seem very interested in my inventory for someone who supposedly thinks I’m a failure. Why are you really here, Mavrek? Did you lose a client?"

Mavrek’s expression tightened for a fraction of a second before he recovered. "I’m here to offer you a buyout. Pennies on the dollar for your lease. Take it, and you might afford to leave the city with your dignity intact."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you’ll starve," Mavrek said, turning on his heel. "Good luck feeding those things on air, Veydran. I’ll be watching the eviction."

As the door clicked shut, Veydran’s hands shook. He looked at the dragon and the wolf. They were watching him, their hunger palpable, their presence filling the shop with a dark, heavy energy.

"He thinks he’s cut me off," Veydran muttered, his eyes narrowing as he tapped the System interface. "He thinks local suppliers are the only ones who can reach me. But he doesn't know how the System actually works."

He pulled up the 'Procurement' tab. Since the local merchants had blocked his accounts, the System prompted him with a new option: [Direct Global Procurement via Rift-Link.]

"Expensive," Veydran whispered, his finger hovering over the screen. "Thirty percent surcharge for inter-dimensional shipping. But I don't have a choice."

He tapped the screen. A massive, gold-bordered window appeared. 'Aether-infused Moss and Dried Sun-Dried Hydra Meat.'

"Confirm purchase," he commanded.

The shop began to vibrate. A small, shimmering portal opened directly over his counter, spilling light into the room. A crate of pulsating, golden moss and dense, fibrous meat dropped onto the wood with a heavy thud.

"There," Veydran breathed, opening the crate. The scent of ozone and rich, primal iron filled the air. "Eat up, you two."

He threw a piece of the meat toward the dragon. It caught it in mid-air with a savage, joyous snap. The wolf scrambled for the moss, devouring it with a series of satisfied chirps. The shop seemed to brighten as the creatures fed, the ambient magical tension in the room dropping instantly.

"You’re happy now, aren't you?" Veydran sighed, leaning back against his shelves. "But Mavrek’s right about one thing. I’m a target now. And if he finds out I’m sourcing from the Rift, he’ll try to shut me down for good."

He moved to the front door, flipping the sign to 'Closed' and locking it with a secondary, heavy-duty bolt. He was exhausted, his gold was dwindling, and he was currently playing host to two of the most dangerous creatures in the kingdom.

"What else could go wrong?" he asked the silence.

The bell chimed again.

Veydran froze. "I am closed!" he shouted at the door.

"I am aware," a voice replied. It was deep, calm, and carried an unsettling, refined edge. "But I was told that the proprietor of this establishment is the only one who can help me find what I’m looking for."

Veydran reluctantly unlocked the door and pulled it open just a crack. Standing on the cobblestones was a tall, hooded figure with silver-threaded embroidery on their cloak. The stranger didn't look like a merchant, and they certainly didn't look like a local.

"I’m closed for the day," Veydran said, keeping his grip on the door handle.

The stranger reached up, pulling back their hood to reveal a face of striking, pale features and eyes that glowed like polished steel. "I’m looking for dragons, Veydran Korralis. Specifically, the one that triggered the seismic sensor at the Academy three days ago."

Veydran’s heart plummeted. "You’re mistaken. I sell incense and dried herbs. No dragons here."

The stranger—Qadren Veyl—stepped forward, their eyes shifting to focus on the dragon, which was currently chewing on a piece of hydra meat behind the counter. Qadren’s lips parted in a slight, curious smile.

"Do not lie to me, merchant," Qadren said, stepping into the shop and looking around with an air of cold, calculated amusement. "I’m not the City Guard. I’m a collector. And it seems I’ve found exactly what I was searching for."

Veydran felt his pulse drumming in his ears. "If you’re here to take him, you’re going to have to kill me first."

Qadren laughed, a sound that held no warmth. "Kill you? Why would I kill the only person who has managed to successfully imprint on an Abyssal-class hatchling? No, Veydran. I’m here to make you an offer that will make your rival, Mavrek, look like a beggar."

"And what would that be?" Veydran asked, his hand drifting toward his hidden defensive runes.

"Security," Qadren whispered, taking a step closer until they were almost chest-to-chest. "Protection from the Guild, from the law, and from the people who will eventually come to hunt that creature. All I want is the dragon. And in exchange, I’ll give you a life you can’t even imagine."

Veydran looked at the dragon, then at the stranger, and finally at his ruined shop. He was tired of being a pawn, and he was tired of being afraid.

"Get out," Veydran said, his voice quiet but steady.

Qadren blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said get out," Veydran repeated, a strange, new resolve hardening in his chest. "I don't care who you are, or what you want. This is my shop. That is my beast. And I’m not selling."

Qadren stood there for a long moment, the air in the shop growing cold, the very shadows seeming to lean toward the visitor. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Qadren bowed.

"Very well, Veydran Korralis. We shall see how long your resolve lasts when the whole world comes knocking at your door."

With a swirl of their cloak, Qadren walked out, leaving Veydran standing in the middle of his chaotic, smelling-of-fresh-rain shop.

Veydran slammed the door and locked it, his hands finally stopping their tremor. He leaned his head against the wood, listening to the silence, and let out a long, jagged breath.

"Well," he whispered to the dragon, who had crawled up to rest on his shoulder. "I think things just got a whole lot more complicated."

The dragon chirped, a small puff of smoke escaping its snout, and nuzzled Veydran’s cheek. He smiled, a small, genuine expression that didn't reach his tired eyes. He had the beast, he had the feed, and for now, he still had his shop.

"Tonight," Veydran murmured, walking toward his workbench to start the repairs, "we plan."