As the looming shadow of war solidified its grip on the kingdom, the capital's atmosphere became tense, its heartbeat quickening with every passing day. The once lively streets now hummed with an underlying fear, and the common folk began reacting in ways that spoke to their growing unease.
Those who could afford to leave sought refuge in safer regions, while others, gripped by the uncertainty of the future, began fortifying their homes, stockpiling food, and preparing for the worst.
For the wealthier citizens, the need for caution was no less pressing; in addition to food, they turned to securing vital supplies—potions, medicines, and other healing elixirs—that could sustain them through an unforeseen crisis. This surge in demand sent the apothecary into a state of near-constant busyness, with Lefahne and Zurrel working tirelessly to meet the needs of a city on the brink.
But not everyone had the means to horde resources, fortify themselves, or escape. As desperation seeped into the streets, the less fortunate found themselves unable to escape their growing fears. Without a sense of direction, they began craving a psychological and emotional means of escape and soon found solace in dangerous pastimes—some drowned their worries in alcohol, others turned to gambling, women, or violence, while a small yet increasing number turned to the psychedelic escapism of drugs.
DING~
The bell above the apothecary's door chimed faintly as a man shuffled inside, his movements jittery and unsteady. His hollow eyes darted around the shop, his lips twisted into a grimace as beads of sweat dotted his furrowed brow.
The faint aroma of herbs and elixirs filled the air, but his focus was on something far more valuable than potions. The addict scratched at his arms absently, his withdrawal-induced irritation bubbling just below the surface.
The apothecary was quiet, its only occupants being the two shop owners and the occasional customer who wandered in. The man made an effort to appear inconspicuous, pretending to browse the shelves as his erratic gaze swept the room. He muttered to himself under his breath, pretending to be interested in the colorful vials and jars on display, but his true intentions lay in scouting the premises for the location of the coin vault.
Zurrel stood behind the counter, his calm demeanor giving the appearance of a casual observer. But his sharp, perceptive eyes had been tracking the man's every move since he entered the shop. The addict's fidgeting and nervous glances were red flags that Zurrel recognized immediately.
The vagabond's gaze finally landed on what appeared to be a small, secure cabinet in the corner behind the counter. His body tensed as his mind raced, weighing his chances. The shop was momentarily devoid of customers, and Lefahne had stepped into the back to retrieve an order for another client.
He decided to act.
In a sudden burst of movement, the man lunged for the cabinet, his hand outstretched. But Zurrel was faster. He vaulted over the counter, intercepting the man mid-lunge, his boot slamming into the bastard's stomach, sending him crashing into a nearby shelf.
Glass vials and jars toppled from the impact, shattering against the ground. Bright, iridescent liquids spilled across the floor, releasing bursts of colorful smoke and sparks as they reacted with the air. The pungent smell filled the room, mingling with the addict's frantic grunts and Zurrel's focused breathing.
The man twisted and lashed out wildly, managing to shove the store owner back a few steps. Seizing the opportunity, he grabbed a heavy ceramic jar and swung it toward the man's head. Zurrel ducked, the jar smashing against another shelf, turning the once-organized apothecary into a war zone.
Zurrel remained calm despite the chaos. He moved with precision, sidestepping the assailant's frantic swings and using his own weight to throw him off balance. The addict snarled in frustration, his desperation driving him to fight harder. His bloodshot eyes darted around the room before settling on a knife concealed in his boot.
Zurrel caught the movement too late. The addict yanked the blade free and lunged again, the knife slashing in a deadly arc. At that moment, Lefahne and Fay burst into the room, their expressions shifting from concern to terror as they took in the scene.
"Zurrel!" Lefahne screamed, her voice piercing the air.
The blade glinted under the dim light as it descended toward its target. But Zurrel's reaction was swift and unyielding. With a quick pivot, he sidestepped the attack, his hand snapping out to grab the addict's wrist. A sharp twist forced the man to drop the knife, which clattered noisily to the ground.
Not giving him a chance to recover, Zurrel stepped in close, delivering a well-placed elbow to the bastard's jaw. The addict staggered back, dazed, and Zurrel swept his legs out from under him in one fluid motion. The man crashed to the floor, landing amid the shattered remnants of potions and jars.
Zurrel followed up by twisting his arm behind his back and pressing a knee firmly against his spine to keep him pinned. "You picked the wrong shop," he said breathlessly, his voice tinged with mild irritation as he reached for a coil of rope kept nearby for such occasions.
As he looped it around the man's wrists, the addict struggled weakly, but his earlier burst of energy had left him drained and defeated.
"Stay still," Zurrel growled, his tone carrying an edge of finality.
Lefahne rushed to her husband's side, her face pale. She glanced at the assailant, then at the destruction around them, before speaking in a trembling voice. "Are you hurt?"
Zurrel shook his head, his focus still on securing the bindings. "Not a scratch. He didn't stand a chance."
"Wh-What happened exactly?"
Zurrel gestured toward the man beneath him. "He tried to get into the vault. Desperate and erratic, probably withdrawing from something."
Lefahne sighed and knelt beside the squirming addict, her tone gentle but firm. "You're not going to get better like this," she informed, pulling a vial of potion from her satchel. "This will help calm you down and ease the worst of your symptoms. Just drink it."
But the man clenched his jaw, refusing to cooperate, even as bled from the wounds sustained from the broken glass. Lefahne glanced up at Zurrel with a look of frustration. "He's not going to take it willingly. I'll need to use a syringe, but they're downstairs, and I also need to heal him right away."
Fay, her face pale and her hands clutching her dress, stood at the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the scene. Zurrel glanced at her and offered a reassuring smile. "Fay," he called softly. "Head to the basement and fetch one of the syringes from the second drawer of the storage cabinet. Be quick, but careful," he instructed.
Fay nodded, her expression serious as she darted off to retrieve the tool, leaving Zurrel and Lefahne to handle the increasingly agitated man.
***
CREAKKK~
The door to the basement slowly opened, the dim light from above spilling into its shadowy depths. At the top of the stairs, Fay stood motionless. The oppressive darkness below seemed to stir and churn as if it were alive. Absent-mindedly, she noted that it was her very first time venturing into the basement. Yet, despite the overwhelming sense of foreboding that lurked within, she had an important task at hand and time was of the essence.
Step by hesitant step, she descended, the wooden stairs groaning softly beneath her weight. The faint light from above tapered the deeper she delved, leaving her increasingly engulfed in the void. At the base of the staircase, a faint glow from a dull mana crystal bathed the room in a pale light, its soft illumination casting long shadows across the room.
Against the far wall stood a large storage cabinet, its polished handles reflecting the muted glow. The syringe Zurrel had requested lay just within reach, yet Fay's steps faltered, her instincts refusing to let her move forward.
The memory of the violent commotion upstairs clung to her like a second skin, sharpening her senses to every creak of the floorboards and every faint whisper of the wind through the cracks. Her wide eyes scanned the room, lingering on corners cloaked in darkness, her heart thudding against her ribs. It should've been a simple task—grab the syringe and return—but an inexplicable unease had rooted her to the spot. Something felt off, though she couldn't quite place what.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed a solitary door tucked inconspicuously within the neatly arranged chaos of the room, quietly set into the western wall of the basement. The magic circle etched in its surface was essentially invisible to the untrained eye, but for Fay, it was as clear as day.
It hummed mysteriously, its presence commanding attention like a solar eclipse. It beckoned her closer, its purpose veiled in a quiet aura. Fay felt entranced—suddenly, the urgent command to retrieve the syringe was but a distant memory in her mind, a grain of sand lost in the wind. Now, all that mattered was satisfying her curiosity and unraveling whatsoever it was that lurked beyond the door.
CLICKK.