The morning dawned bright and clear.
Pedestrians picked their way through muddy streets, while flower girls hawked dewy blooms to passersby.
Stretching in the sunlight, young Abel lazily unlocked his shop door and hung the "OPEN" sign on its nail.
This store was his inheritance—passed down from his father, and his father before him.
Once, long ago, it had been a humble grocery. But thanks to societal progress and a prime location, generations of Abels had expanded it into a respectable magical supply shop. Over three centuries of renovations, the interior had grown spacious, its walls and cabinets now packed with wares.
Yet, to the eternal frustration of every Abel, the neighborhood—and even the nearby school—still called it "the grocery," and him "that grocery boy."
Customers trickled in.
Today was a rest day at the adjacent academy, which meant a sales boom. Students were his second-largest clientele after local residents—and far more free-spending. Nearly every shop on this street thrived thanks to the school.
Leaning back in his chair, Abel idly observed patrons browsing and critiquing his inventory, chiming in only when asked about an item's function, origin, or material.
Then four teenagers entered: two boys, two girls.
Abel perked up. School's out.
The Squad Unleashed
The quartet had forgone campus exploration for the city beyond. "You won't regret it," Elina had promised.
That morning, Lee and Danny had risen early alongside Lanen and Hale.
"Where are you headed?"
"The ball courts," Lee said. "Matches all day—we're aiming for five." (Few would guess that pale, wiry Danny shared Lee's athletic zeal.)
By the time Lanen and Hale descended the dorm stairs, Elina and Sophia were already waiting below, their pointed hats silhouetted against the morning sun.
"Hurry! West Street awaits!" Elina called, cheerfully oblivious to the delay. Sophia smiled beside her, radiant as the dawn.
Lanen wasn't disappointed.
West Street—officially Atlantia West Street, though no one remembered its original name—was the bustling commercial spine west of the academy. Its prosperity eclipsed even the finest quarters of Devonta. Magic supply shops, cafés, candy stores, stationers, and inns thrived, but the true stars were the food stalls, each thronged with customers.
"Look!" Hale nudged Lanen toward a magical pet shop, its cages filled with creatures ranging from fierce to fluffy to nearly invisible. (All strictly non-lethal—the faculty would riot otherwise.)
"I've always wanted a Smilebeast," Hale sighed. "Three months' allowance, and it's mine. I'm scouting options today—gotta ask if cages and grooming kits are included."
Next door, a botanical emporium displayed vibrant blooms and creeping vines.
Under Elina's guidance, they breakfasted on local street food—fried delicacies and neon-hued juices—their wallets unharmed by the premium pricing. In this world, only middle-class and wealthy families could afford arcane education; the poor opted for vocational schools to fast-track employment.
"That place looks decent," Lanen remarked, eyeing an upscale restaurant with illustrated menu posters. "Once my librarian pay comes in, we're dining there."
"Perfect! I nearly swallowed my tongue last time," Elina said. "Miles better than the cafeteria's paid meals, and cheaper too."
Lanen geeked out over arcane gadgets in supply shops; Hale lingered at the pet store and a candy shop, buying a bag of Gersidy chews to share. The girls, meanwhile, gravitated toward delicate trinkets.
Then—
"Well, if it isn't the famous Miss Fox," sneered a voice. "Heard you're auditing classes now. Slumming it with first-years?"
Lanen and Hale stepped forward, shielding Sophia and Elina.
Three upperclassmen loomed—bulkier, older. Their leader, a hulking brute, grinned maliciously. "Weren't you bragging about graduating in one year? Still stuck in junior arcana?"
Elina fired back: "Says the guy repeating his third year, Haus?"
The jab landed with a thud. Haus blinked, momentarily derailed by his own stupidity.