Chapter Text
The surf crashed and hissed against the shore, a restless rhythm that seemed to mirror Boss Finn’s mood. His fingers brushed sand from each stone before flicking it into the waves, arcing just shy of the foam’s retreat, as though challenging the tide to claim them. The salt air tickled at Sylvia’s nose, sharp and bracing, while her boots pressed neat crescents into the damp sand, giving way with each step.
She stopped a few paces away, giving herself time to study him. His shoulders hunched, his jaw clenched tight. She hesitated, her lips parting to speak, but the faint sigh of the tide filled the silence instead. Boss Finn seemed carved from the driftwood he sat on—rough, weathered, and immovable.
When his pile of stones finally ran out, Sylvia cleared her throat.
Boss Finn’s head jerked up, his eyes flashing the moment they fell upon her. His expression flickered, momentarily unreadable, before a grin slid into place—sharp and deliberate, like a knife unsheathed. “Well, whaddaya know,” he drawled. “If it ain’t the mixin’ vixen herself. You come to gloat, or is this just a social call?”
“Mmm, maybe a little bit of both.” She folded her arms, the faintest grin tugging at her lips as she glanced up at the sky. “I mean, you’re not exactly hard to find. Word is you’ve been brooding out here for days.”
His laugh rumbled low and rough. “Damn, Minnow. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“The winning, or the gloating?” Sylvia quipped, eyes gleaming. “Because if memory serves, you also said I was ‘too sweet to really play the game.’” She shrugged. “I guess you were wrong about that, too.”
Boss Finn’s grin twitched wider, but something in his eyes shifted. “I did say that, didn’t I? Turns out you’ve got a bit of bite to you. If I’d known that, I might’ve played my cards differently.”
Sylvia smiled, sharp and satisfied. “So you admit I outplayed you?”
His gaze slid to the sand. “Yeah, you got me.” He jabbed the air twice with his fists. “Gave me the ol’ ‘badum badum.’” The corner of his mouth twitched with faint amusement. “Not everyone’s got instincts like that. That’s killer stuff.”
The salt air seemed sweeter now, the ache in her shoulders from brewing all week fading with the satisfying memory of her triumph.
Boss Finn shook his head slowly, more to himself than to her. “Guess I underestimated you,” he said under his breath, his thumb brushing absently over one of his rings. Then his attention snapped back to her, his grin returning with sharper edges. “That’s my loss. But it also means I could learn something from ya.”
Sylvia momentarily stared, taken aback. “What? From me?”
“Yeah.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee, his sharp nails tapping a slow rhythm on the driftwood log. “Y’know, if you’re here to rub it in, at least make it worth my time.”
“Yes, you seem very busy,” Sylvia said, hand on hip. “What happened to that arrogant shark who was going to sink my entire operation?”
His grin wavered for the briefest second, his eyes dropping to the log beneath his hand, a subtle shift in his posture before he offered a dismissive shrug. “He got knocked down a peg or two. So, here’s the deal: you’ve already schooled me. Now I want you to teach me.” He leaned back slightly, arms folding across his chest, as though awaiting her judgment.
Sylvia raised a brow, her lips curling into a small, skeptical smile as she brought her other hand to bear on her hip as well, as though balancing herself. She shifted her weight slightly to one foot, stepping back just a half step, eyes narrowing as she assessed him.
“Just like that, huh?” Her voice was light, but her stance was unwavering.
Boss Finn leaned forward again. There was a glint in his eye she couldn’t miss, a flash of his usual swagger tempered by something earnest. “Just like that. I mean, you came all the way down here to check on me. Seems like you’re already feelin’ a little… responsible for my current, humble state.” He grinned, daring her to deny it.
Sylvia snorted, rolling her eyes. “Ha! Responsible. Right. And what’s in it for me?”
“Keepin’ your friends close and your enemies even closer,” Boss Finn answered glibly, his shoulders rolling slightly as he spread his hands wide, a fluid motion that was more confident than it was truly open. “That’s how you stay on top of the food chain, Minnow.”
“Let’s get a few things straight—you’re not my enemy anymore, and you’re definitely not my friend.”
“Fair enough. But you gotta admit, this arrangement’s got potential.” His shoulders shifted as he tipped back just a fraction, trying to gauge her reaction. “You teach me to play the game your way, and who knows? Maybe I’ll even play nice.”
This time, Sylvia didn’t laugh. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she took in his words. “You’ll have to do more than play nice,” she said, each word measured. “If you’re serious about this, we’re going to do things my way—no mercenary tactics, no shortcuts.” She crossed her arms, not leaving room for argument.
Boss Finn raised two fingers in a mock salute. “Scout’s honor.” The playful gleam dimmed slightly as his expression grew more intent. He stood abruptly, brushing sand off his pants before extending a hand toward her.
“I’ve got a condition, too,” he said, his sharp nails catching the sunlight as he flexed his fingers slightly, the motion deliberate. A hint of amusement danced in his eyes. His grin morphed, no longer cutting but almost keen, like a pick ready to find purchase on a cliff face. “If I’m stickin’ around to be your student, I get to call ya ‘Teach.’ Deal?”
Sylvia studied his face intently, her eyes narrowing as she searched for any hint of a hidden barb, any flicker of insincerity, but she found none. Instead, Boss Finn stood guarded, his stance angled away, waiting for her to decide. She let her gaze drift toward the waves, her eyes searching as she weighed her options. Her fingers curled briefly before, with deliberate ease, she extended her gloved hand to meet his.
“Deal.”
“If you’re going to be shadowing me, you’ll be spending a lot of time in my shop.” Sylvia unlocked the front door and held it open, waiting for Boss Finn to follow.
“Makes sense.” Boss Finn ducked slightly to pass through the doorframe, glancing around the efficient, sparsely decorated room.
“But I’ve still got some errands to run today, so I figured introducing you to my business contacts is a good place to start.” She raised the lights with a flick of her wand, illuminating the neatly organized rows of cauldrons and shelves. “Every relationship is important; everyone I’ve met on Rafta has taught me something.”
Boss Finn jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Market’s that way,” he pointed out, watching as Sylvia headed deeper into the shop, inspecting each cauldron as she passed. “You gotta pick somethin’ up first?”
“No, I just think it makes sense to start the introductions with my roommate.” She paused by the trapdoor near the back wall.
Boss Finn blinked, his tone skeptical. “The owl?”
A sharp hoot came from the rafters above.
“No,” Sylvia said with a sigh, planting her hands on her hips. “Roxanne.”
That earned her a bark of laughter. Boss Finn pressed a fist to his mouth, shaking his head. “You collectin’ charity cases now, Teach?”
“Don’t say it like that.” Sylvia glared at him before kneeling beside the trapdoor. “Roxanne is my friend now.” She rapped her knuckles against the wood. “Roxanne! I have a guest. Can we come down and say hello?”
A honeyed voice floated up. “Yes, darling, make yourself at home.”
“This is my home,” Sylvia muttered under her breath. She pulled the trapdoor open and gestured for Boss Finn to follow as she climbed down the ladder.
The room below was a stark contrast to Sylvia’s shop—a riot of color and light. Bright tapestries hung on the walls, while crystals scattered rainbow fragments across the space. A rack of glimmering bottles lined one corner. In the center of it all, Roxanne reclined in an armchair, her legs crossed, an apple in one hand and a magazine in the other.
When her eyes landed on Boss Finn, her lips curled into a smirk. “Well, well. Look who’s gracing us with his presence. Rafta’s own cautionary tale of ambition.” Her gaze swept over him slowly, making sure he recognized the weight of her judgment. “Lost to Sylvia in the potion competition, and now you’re here to beg for scraps? How the mighty fall.”
“Hey!” Sylvia snapped, indignation flaring at the suggestion she was at a level a person might fall to.
But Boss Finn only chuckled. He slid his hands into his pockets and leaned back. “I’m not the one slummin’ it in her basement.”
Roxanne’s smirk faltered. She sat straighter, her tongue clicking sharply. “I’m planning my next moves, dear. Biding my time. Not that I’d expect you to grasp the intricacies of market strategy.”
Sylvia stepped between them, arms spread in a gesture of peace that didn’t quite mask her exasperation. “You said you’d play nice,” she reminded Boss Finn pointedly before turning to Roxanne. “Boss Finn is here to see how I run my business, and I’m starting with my network.”
Roxanne rolled her eyes, flicking her hair over her shoulder with a dramatic flourish. “If you insist on playing along with this little ‘eager pupil’ charade, I will, too. But Sylvia, please—try to keep your student out of my space. I would hate for the delicate atmosphere I maintain down here to be disturbed.”
Sylvia clasped her hands together, her tone mock-solemn. “Don’t worry, Roxanne. We’ll keep it to a minimum.”
Boss Finn, meanwhile, loomed over the armchair with a grin curving his mouth. “Don’t you worry. I know how to keep my fins to myself.” He picked up a swirling bottle from the rack, the glass warping his smirk as he turned it in his hand. “When I want to.”
“The cheek!” Roxanne recoiled, her nose wrinkling in disdain, but Sylvia caught the way her perfectly arched brow quirked, as though savoring a private joke. Her fingers lingered on the magazine page, half-forgotten, as she glanced sideways at Sylvia.
After checking the notes taped to the aging barrels in one corner, Sylvia turned back with a clap of her hands. “There. You’ve seen all there is to see down here. Let’s get out of your hair, Roxanne, and you can restore your ‘delicate atmosphere.’”
She herded Boss Finn toward the ladder. He climbed first, his tail swaying just enough to force Sylvia to jump back.
“I do hope you’re going to see Quinn today, darling!” Roxanne called after them, her tone saccharine.
“Yep,” Sylvia replied as she pulled the trapdoor shut. “Feels like I have to restock ingredients every day lately.”
Below, Roxanne reclined in her chair, a satisfied smile spreading as she purred to herself. “Good. Your guest deserves it.”
Sylvia came to a stop in a rare, empty section of the primary thoroughfare and looked up, shading her eyes against the sun. Occasionally, a stall would set up in this spot only to learn, inevitably, why no one stayed beneath Quinn’s shop.
“Wait here a minute,” she said, straddling her broom and rising quickly toward the dark blotch in the sky above the market.
Boss Finn’s gaze darted from stall to stall, lingering on the more crowded ones before flicking away with a faint scowl. He needed to figure out his next move. Something low-maintenance, quick to set up, and profitable enough to offset his current predicament. He tugged absently at the loose ends of his bowtie, his tail flicking once, twice—an impatient twitch that betrayed his restlessness.
Sylvia’s broom touched down lightly moments later, and she dismounted with a practiced grace. “Sorry about the wait!” she said, flashing a smile. Her shoulders sagged. “Quinn’s a tough negotiator.”
“And here I thought I was supposed to be learning from a master.” Boss Finn smirked, and when Sylvia’s expression soured, he raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, Teach. I’m just joking. You gotta get some thicker skin.” He winked, and Sylvia exhaled sharply through her nose, clearly unamused.
Quinn’s shop descended lazily from above, the shepherd’s crook swaying under the weight of its eclectic haul—bundles of dried herbs, vials of liquids, a bushel of eyeballs, a potted plant, small skulls, and a treasure chest affixed precariously by a rope tied to one handle. Quinn lounged on the crook, one hand cradling a glowing crystal ball, their feet propped on the treasure chest.
As the shop reached street level, Quinn swung their feet down, sitting upright to sneer at the bustling market with visible disdain. “Ugh, I can’t believe you made me come down here,” they said, voice dripping with annoyance. “Only for you, Sylvia.”
“Don’t act so long-suffering! You made me give you some of my hair!” Sylvia retorted, tucking a strand behind her ear as though to confirm it was still intact.
“That’s a valuable ingredient,” Quinn said flatly. “And with the company you’re keeping, I might need it to locate your corpse someday soon.” Their fingers tapped ominously on the crystal ball.
Boss Finn opened his mouth to reply, but Sylvia beat him to it with a laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic, Quinn. But it’s sweet that you care.”
Quinn’s hand lingered on the crystal ball, their fingers drumming it lightly as if pondering something unsaid. Their crooked smile appeared, lacking its usual venom. “Care? You overestimate me. Still…” They turned their sharp gaze on Boss Finn, a hint of amusement sparking in their eyes. “Bringing a conquered foe along for errands? Sylvia, you are a black hole of relentless charisma, dragging everyone into your orbit no matter how hard they struggle to escape.” They mimed a claw with their hand, then clenched it theatrically.
Sylvia shot them a look, and Boss Finn leaned casually against a nearby post, his attention drifting toward a bundle of eyeballs that seemed to follow his movements. “Guess I figured there are worse people to learn from than the gal who beat me,” he said, his lazy smile broadening into something sharper. “Teach says you’re a tough nut to crack, but I dunno. Most folks don’t even try pulling one over on me.”
The treasure chest snapped its lid open, revealing jagged rows of teeth as it growled low and menacing.
Quinn placed a hand on the lid, their voice smooth and casual. “Me neither. Not if they value their fingers, anyway. Good boy, Boxer.” They patted the chest affectionately.
Sylvia sighed. “Quinn, don’t encourage him,” she muttered, turning her attention to a potted plant dotted with with clusters of berries.
Quinn ignored her, their eyes fixed on Boss Finn. “You’re serious about this, huh? Not just hoping to absorb her magic by osmosis?” They stooped forward, grinning wickedly. “Must sting a bit, coming back as her guard dog.”
Boss Finn’s affable smile stayed plastered in place, but Sylvia caught the carving flick of his tail, the tightening of his jaw; signs of an urge to snap swallowed down. Instead, his voice dropped a register, low and clipped. “Student.”
“Sure, sure.” Quinn’s fingers drummed on the crystal ball. “Don’t give Boxer any ideas, though. Sylvia’s a good egg, and he’s… protective.” Their eyes glinted mischievously as they added, “Wouldn’t want things getting messy.”
Boss Finn crouched slightly, his smile serrated. “Trust me, pal, I don’t just have teeth—I use ‘em.”
“Sylvia,” Quinn said with a groan, closing their eyes as though exhausted. “Your guard dog is threatening me.”
Sylvia glanced skyward briefly but remained focused on the quartz in her hand. “Come on, Quinn. We both know you’d be bored if everyone was afraid of you.”
Quinn huffed but allowed a small, reluctant grin to tug at their mouth. “Fear has its perks. But fine. The company is… tolerable.” They gave Sylvia a sly glance. “For now.”
Sylvia threw up her hands. “Alright, I think that’s enough doomsaying for one day. I didn’t come here for a showdown. I came to restock!”
Boss Finn’s lips twitched into a smirk as Sylvia shut down the tension. “Alright, alright, no showdown,” he said, his voice laced with mild amusement.
“Lucky me,” Quinn grumbled, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of their mouth as they scanned Sylvia’s shopping list. “Dragonegg citrus, jeweled scarab, feathered gelatin, owlbear pheromones, rottermelon… This is going to make a top-notch tolerance potion, Sylvia. For the competition, or just to help you get through the day with your new student?” They chuckled, a little nastily, before their brow furrowed. “Hold on a sec, some of this stuff is way down in there.”
They opened Boxer’s lid, leaning in up to their waist, disappearing deeper than the chest’s dimensions seemed to allow. Boss Finn, standing a few paces off, turned to Sylvia with a grin and mimed lifting Quinn by the ankles and pushing them inside the chest. Sylvia crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow, and Boss Finn shrugged innocently.
Quinn’s voice floated out from the chest as they returned, arms full of ingredients. “Here you go,” they said, only to drop one pocked and pitted fruit on the cobblestones between their feet with a splat. “Dang.”
“You could try grabbing less at once,” Sylvia suggested, maintaining her bright expression, though her tone hinted at exasperation.
“Nah, Boxer’s breath is terrible. I’d rather get it over with all at once.” Quinn dumped the ingredients into the bag Sylvia held open. The bag, too, held more than it appeared it should. Boss Finn shook his head; witches.
After retrieving a replacement rottermelon, Quinn paused, eyeing Sylvia thoughtfully as she tied off her bag. “You don’t have anything new for me today, do you?” they asked after a beat.
“I don’t, sorry.” Sylvia gave a half-shrug, her fingers working efficiently. “I couldn’t put up a stake for the Heroes Guild expedition yesterday. I have to get a new cauldron from Muktuk today so I can start brewing my competition potions—which includes the tolerance potion, yes—and I couldn’t afford to do both.”
Quinn sighed, their face softening into a rueful expression. “That sounds about right. Otherwise, today might’ve been a good day.” They reclined on the shepherd’s crook as it rose into the sky.
“Bye, Quinn! Hope you still manage to have a good day!” Sylvia called, though there was a touch of bitterness in her voice.
Quinn grumbled, waving one arm lazily without looking down. Boxer growled.
Sylvia snorted softly, glancing at Boss Finn. “Guess you’ve made an impression.”
“Aw, come on, Teach. Sometimes you gotta match your opponent’s energy,” Boss Finn said with a wink, his tone light but with an unspoken edge. He followed her as they walked, his hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes flicking over the market’s colorful offerings.
“Quinn is not your opponent. They’re my friend!” Sylvia snapped back, a little too defensively.
“All the more reason to watch my back. You can’t afford to look vulnerable when the sharks start circling.” Boss Finn raised a brow, his smile shifting into something more playful.
Sylvia frowned but didn’t argue. “Hmm,” she mused after a beat. “Maybe I can use that when I’m haggling.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Maybe,” she said, when he gave her a knowing grin. She wagged a finger at him. “But a version that’s less overtly threatening. I’m running a legitimate business.”
“Sure, Teach. Just glad I could get a jump start on repaying you for your time.”
Sylvia blew air sharply through her nose but couldn’t hide the corners of her mouth lifting at the edges. “Repaying me, huh?” she asked under her breath. “Guess I should’ve let you shake Quinn down for a better discount. Maybe then I could afford a treat for once.” Her voice dropped, the sarcasm tinged with a flicker of frustration.
Boss Finn raised an eyebrow at her, looking toward a brightly colored stall selling candied fruits and sugared nuts. The sweet smell wafted toward them, and he slowed his step. “What, Rafta’s rising star can’t scrape together enough to treat herself?”
Sylvia answered, but the bitterness in her voice sharpened the words. “Not if I want to afford all the ingredients I need by the end of the week. Nearly every coin I earn goes right back into the business. I buy ingredients to brew potions to sell to buy ingredients to brew potions to give to adventurers to bring me back ingredients to brew potions to sell to buy a new cauldron to brew stronger potions to sell to buy more shelving, and that’s not even counting the competition—” She punctuated each item with a chopping motion of her hand before pausing, realizing she was working herself up.
Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. The edge left her voice as she looked away, gaze distant. “There’s a high cost to growing my business this quickly, and a lot of moving parts. My ‘treat’ will be success in the end. Essentials only until then.” She swallowed hard, but said nothing further.
Boss Finn, watching her closely, frowned slightly. “Maybe you need a tip on growing investments instead of just ‘stand up for yourself’ tripe.”
Sylvia barked a laugh, sharp and empty. “Sure, Mister High Roller, I’ll remember that when I’m swimming in gold instead of just hanging on.” Her attempt at cheerfulness faltered under the weight of the weariness etched into her features. “Anyway, it’s fine. I survived on dry ramen back in college. I can do it again.” Her gaze stayed locked on the road ahead, her shoulders stiff, attempting to tamp her disappointment back down.
Boss Finn studied her a moment, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Then he let out a low hum of consideration. “Then let me make this real simple.” He suddenly strolled up to the candy stand, his movements swift and confident. A few coins exchanged hands, and a moment later, he returned, holding a shiny red candy apple. He offered it to her with a small flourish. “Apples are a classic gift for teachers, right? You can’t go wrong with classics.”
Sylvia froze, startled by how close he suddenly was, the candy apple gleaming between them like a truce she hadn’t asked for. Instinct made her rock back a half-step before she caught herself. “You didn’t have to do that!” she blurted, more sharply than she meant to. "I’m not a—”
“—A charity case?” Boss Finn finished knowingly, raising an eyebrow.
“I was going to say ‘mooch,’” she muttered, but her gaze flitted away.
He grinned, mischief flickering in his eyes. “Think of it as an investment in my teacher. After all, if you’re planning to get through to a lowlife like me, you’re gonna need to keep your energy up, right?”
Sylvia hesitated, then took the apple, her features relaxing ever so slightly. “Thanks. Fair warning though: if this becomes a regular thing… I might get accustomed to it.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, Teach. A little indulgence here and there never hurt anyone,” he said, his tone teasing. “Just consider it a small price to keep you from throwing me back. Can’t have you burning out before I’ve learned all your tricks.”
Sylvia’s laugh was genuine this time, if quiet. “Alright, but no more bribes,” she said, wagging the apple at him. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart, not for the snacks!”
“Of course, of course,” he said, humoring her with a playful wink. “I’ll keep an eye out for any other ‘investments’ you might need. Now, would ya eat the thing already?” He flashed her a toothy smile, watching as she took a tentative bite.
The sweet treat added a spring to her step as they continued down the street.
The air around Muktuk’s forge grew thick with the scent of heated metal and the rhythmic clang of Muktuk’s hammer. The walrus artisan looked up, his grin splitting his face as he saw Sylvia.
“Aha! Sylvia! And…” Muktuk squinted, eyeing Boss Finn. “The shark who floundered against you! What a most unexpected pleasure.”
Boss Finn adjusted his stance, scratching the back of his neck as his grin lingered, tight and toothy. “Teach, your friends don’t pull punches. I’m startin’ to lose track of how many times I’ve had to laugh this off today.”
Sylvia pressed her lips together, eyes crinkling with the effort to look concerned. But the tremor in her voice betrayed her as a laugh broke free, light and uncontrolled. “I figured it was time to get a bigger cauldron,” she explained to Muktuk, getting straight to the point. “I’m going to need it to meet the quality recommendation for competition potions in the next round. And since Boss Finn’s following me around, I thought he could see what goes into it.”
Muktuk rumbled in approval, the sound shaking the air. “A wise decision! Your cauldron is your most faithful companion—it is not a tool, but an extension of one’s very spirit! And if you are learning from Sylvia…” He tipped his head toward Boss Finn. “Then you should know that the cauldron is at the heart of her success.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Boss Finn said with a grin, crossing his arms. “Treat it with respect, like a business partner, yada yada. But she’s the one I’m here to study, not the cookware.”
Muktuk let out a hearty chuckle. “A cauldron is no mere cookware, my friend! It is the vessel of transformation, the chrysalis of potential!” He swept his arm toward the array of polished cauldrons, each one gleaming in the forge’s light.
Boss Finn knocked on one, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll give ya that—it’s impressive work.” He paused. “Maybe I’d have been more competitive with one of these beauties, huh?”
Muktuk laughed, a deep, booming sound. “Perhaps, indeed, Boss Finn! Though a good cauldron cannot brew confidence—or humility. That, my friend, is a task left to you.”
Sylvia stifled a laugh. “See? Everyone’s got knowledge to share. Even the ‘art-for-art’s sake’ types.”
“Sure. But there’s something to be said for havin’ the sharpest teeth on Rafta.”
Muktuk nodded sagely, running a mittened thumb along one of his tusks. “Indeed. The sharpness of one’s teeth is important—yet even more so is the depth of one’s heart!” He thumped his chest, mustache bristling. “And if you wish to keep up with Sylvia, you would do well to remember both.”
“Sure, chum.” Boss Finn rapped his knuckles against the cauldron again, slower this time, his lips quirking in grudging approval. “Guess I could pick up a few things here after all.”
After a final chuckle from Muktuk, Sylvia turned toward a sturdy, turquoise cauldron with a few purple, eye-like stones embedded in its basin. She ran her finger along its rim and then grasped it with both hands, feeling the solid craftsmanship.
Looking up at Muktuk, she slapped a hand against the base of the cauldron as she proclaimed, “This one. This can tolerate the amount of magimins I’ll need.”
Muktuk nodded with a proud grin. “An excellent choice! It shall withstand the heat of a thousand brews and bear your ambitions like a loyal companion.”
He turned to Boss Finn, his grin widening. “And you now have the honor of carrying it back for your brilliant mentor! Think of it as an exercise in humility!”
Sylvia’s eyes widened. “But what about the—?”
“That won’t be necessary, Sylvia! I’m certain your pupil will rise to the occasion!”
Sylvia hovered nervously as Boss Finn tested the cauldron’s weight.
“You don’t have to—”
“Nah, I’ve got this,” he interrupted, his arms flexing under the strain. He flashed her a grin, even though he clenched his teeth. “But hey, feel free to cheer me on, Teach.”
Sylvia tried to hide her concern behind a smirk. “I didn’t realize muscles were voice activated.”
Boss Finn gave her a wry look, adjusting his grip on the cauldron. “Oh go ahead, make me do all the heavy lifting and don’t even have the decency to act impressed. You really know how to give a guy a hard time, don’tcha?”
Sylvia shifted her weight to one foot and drummed her fingers idly against her hip. “Maybe if you’d spent more time doing honest work instead of scheming, you wouldn’t be struggling so much.” Her voice stayed light, but the glint in her eyes dared him to take offense.
For a beat, Boss Finn’s smile thinned, stretching at the corners like he was testing how far it could pull before it snapped. His focus sharpened on her, dry and cutting, a far cry from the dismissive bluster he’d worn the first time he skulked into her shop dropping thinly-veiled threats. His tailfin twitched, a slicing flick that made it clear her jab had landed.
Before he could decide whether to take the bait, to tip the unspoken warning in every line of his posture into something spoken, Muktuk’s booming laugh cut clean through the moment, loud enough to rattle the tools hanging from the walls.
“True strength, Boss Finn, lies in service to one’s companions! Remember that!” the blacksmith bellowed, clapping him amiably on the back with a large, mittened hand.
There was a sharp and reflexive flash of teeth bared when his body jerked forward a half-step under Muktuk’s exuberant slap, like the smith had jarred loose the instinct he'd been wrestling down. Sylvia, having braced herself, now let her breath go, almost impressed. He'd looked ready to deliver a verbal knife to the ribs, but instead, he just expanded his chest, shoulders rolling back with slow, deliberate control before he hoisted the cauldron into the air with a grunt.
“Yeah, sure,” Boss Finn said, his voice rougher. Striding out of the smith’s workshop, he added, “All right, no more lollygagging. I’m not gonna pick this thing up a second time.”
Sylvia paid Muktuk, dropped a few coins onto the floor in her rush, apologized, and ran after him. Muktuk laughed and picked up his tongs. He paused to better overhear the tail end of their conversation.
“This had better be the last errand you had on your list.”
“I don’t know. I was thinking about making the hike out to Saffron’s before we head back…”
“Har, har, Teach. Bite me.”
After a few adjustments, the best formation involved Boss Finn carrying the cauldron over his head like a bell hanging over its clapper, while Sylvia walked ahead, giving him something to follow and ensuring the path was clear. He had no spare breath for conversation. Sylvia hustled to unlock the shop, jam the door stopper in, and rush back so he didn’t have to halt his momentum. Once he was through the door, she dashed into the back room, reappearing moments later with a blanket to protect the floor.
“Right here,” she said, tossing the blanket down in front of him.
Once Boss Finn gingerly set down the cauldron, he slumped onto the counter, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his forehead. He shook out his arms. “Hoo boy, Teach.” He chuckled breathlessly. “That’s a task and a half. How the hell do you usually get a new cauldron home?”
Sylvia drew her hands back and attempted a smile that quickly morphed into a grimace. “Well, usually Muktuk wheels it down on his dolly… But he didn’t… He said…” Her voice petered out awkwardly.
Boss Finn’s mouth drew into a taut line. He blinked, letting out a deep, somewhat resigned sigh.
“You know what, Teach… I gotta hand it to you.” He gave a short laugh. “You got me again, and I didn’t even see it comin’.”
Sylvia’s shoulders snapped back, hands held up. “In my defense, you seemed eager!” She bit her lip, trying to hide her guilt. “And I did try to say something back there.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved her off, eyes still narrowed, feigning annoyance. “You still had me haul that thing halfway across town.”
She couldn’t stop a grin from slipping through as she folded her arms. “What can I say? I’m teaching you practical skills—like managing inventory.”
Boss Finn let out a dry chuckle, but Sylvia caught the way he tugged sharply at his rolled-up sleeves, like he was bracing for a swing that wasn't coming. “And here I thought you’d spare me at least a little effort after I bought you that candy apple.”
Sylvia put on her best serious expression. “Oh, I thought about it. But that apple was gone in five minutes. A cauldron lasts a lifetime. And I told you, I don’t take bribes.”
“Is that right?” The edges of his grin eased, hiding a few more teeth. “Well, I think we’re square after this.”
Sylvia’s laugh burst out, a short, sharp sound that matched the shake of her head. “Alright, alright—that sounds reasonable. Fair’s fair.”
“Of course it’s fair,” he said with a smirk, straightening up and dusting off his hands. “Teach, I’m basically a saint now. I know what’s fair. I’m the very picture of humility.”
He gestured grandly to the gleaming new cauldron. “Your chariot of potential awaits.”
“Well…” she said, eyes glinting with playfulness. “I actually have to bottle up one of my current brews, take that cauldron off the fire, then swap this one in. You don’t suppose you could… stick around a bit longer? Watching me bottle potions has to count as a lesson.”
Boss Finn rubbed his face with both hands, his smile pinched at the edges. “Sure, Teach.”
His grin eased into something quieter, arms folding loosely. “Though, if I’m bein’ honest,” he said, rubbing one of his rings with his thumb, “I’ve been thinkin’ potions aren’t my bag anymore.”
Sylvia glanced up. “Oh? You seemed so serious about it a few days ago.” Her eyes narrowed at the recollection. “A little too serious, in fact.”
He chuckled lightly. “Serious about the competition, sure. Serious about winnin’, absolutely.” He leaned into his hand, his fingers resting at the back of his neck. “But maybe it’s time I accept I’m not gonna be the next big potion mogul. Sure, I’ve got the smarts, I’ve got the charm in spades… but all the brewing?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Running an above-board potion operation? That’s not the hustle for me.”
Sylvia lifted one eyebrow with a huff of breath. “Well, glad I could scare you off of potions after, what, one day of watching me work? That’s somewhat validating. What are you pivoting to?”
“Life coaching,” he said with faux gravitas, but the gleam in his eyes told her there was some truth behind it. “I’m great at sizing people up—present company excluded—and hey, look at me now. I’m already back on my feet after you mopped the floor with me. A little positive visualization and presto, you’ve taken me under your fin. Only had to ask once and got same-day results.”
Sylvia drummed her fingers against the countertop. “So you’re done with potions because you’re suddenly inspired to… tell people how to live their lives?”
He propped one elbow on the counter with the expression of a man who’d just sold sand in the desert. “People’ll believe anything if you say it like you mean it. I tell ‘em they’ve got untapped potential, unique strengths, a calling they’ve been too afraid to answer…” He gestured broadly, his voice dropping into an easy, practiced rhythm. “Take you, for example. You’re ambitious, resilient, great under pressure. You’ve got that… spark. Somethin' that'll lift this shop right up off the ground.”
Sylvia blinked, caught between offense and bafflement. The cadence was too smooth, the pauses too deliberate. She could almost see the template floating behind his eyes: [Insert Aspirational Traits Here].
She raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Almost convincing.”
“Just testin’ the patter,” he said, unflappable. “If it almost worked on you, that’s basically a ringing endorsement. I’ll be winning hearts and minds in no time.”
Sylvia crossed to the sink, rinsed off a ladle just to give her hands something to do. It wasn’t that he was wrong. She was ambitious, and she had been holding her shop together through sheer force of will. But there was something hollow in the delivery, like being handed a polished potion bottle filled with glitter water. She leaned one hip against the counter and looked back at him with mock gravity.
“Well, I do feel incredibly seen. Empowered, even. Definitely not like you just plucked a few nice words off a list.” She gave the ladle a final shake and set it aside with a faint clink. “I’m not sure how well life coaching meshes with shady business tactics and fish puns, anyway."
“Those are my edge,” he said, with no small amount of pride. "Can’t be a coach worth my salt if I’m too soft on people.”
Sylvia sighed audibly, her smile betraying her mirth. “Well, best of luck with that. And hey, if you ever need a testimonial for your life coaching practice, you can always say you were an integral part of my taking down a crooked businessman. You’re already ahead.”
Boss Finn winked. “Exactly. And I’ll have you around to humble me if I get too big for my britches.”
“I think I can manage that,” she agreed, a laugh bubbling up.
He grinned, hands at his suspenders. “See, Teach? I’m already back on the path to greatness—one lesson at a time.”
Sylvia laughed. “If only you could bottle that confidence and sell that, you’d be all set.” She glanced at the brew she was preparing. “And speaking of bottling, I’ll get moving on this so you can swap the cauldrons and get out of here.”
“Aw, trying to get rid of me already?” He grinned and stepped aside as she moved around the counter.
“I’ll only be doing potions the rest of the day, and that doesn’t seem relevant to your plans anymore,” she said, carefully tipping the smaller of her two cauldrons into a glass basin. “It’s too late to open shop and draw customers today, but I’ll throw some of the cheaper potions out in the vending machine to cover errands in the morning. I’ll stay open longer tomorrow to make up for it.”
She finished pouring the basin out and laughed. “But I guess if you’re not doing potions anymore, I didn’t really need to go into all that, did I? Alright, swap please.”
Boss Finn stretched before rubbing his hands together. “Where do you want the old one?”
“In the corner there,” she said, “I’ll throw a sheet over it. I’m hoping to have Saffron build another fire over here so I can have three going at once soon.”
He nodded and got to work. Moments later, the new cauldron gleamed on its hook, and Sylvia beamed at it, staring at the amethyst facets that seemed to gaze back at her.
“So I ended up lifting this thing a second time after all,” Boss Finn said with a shake of his head, leaning back against the counter. “I’m startin’ to think you just like seeing me sweat.”
Sylvia gave the cauldron a few fond smacks on its side as though trying to rile up an obese dog, then grinned. “It can’t have been as bad this time around. Much shorter trip, right?” She deployed a disarming wink.
“True,” he chuckled, shifting his weight and glancing away for a moment, then back at her. “Y’know… I didn't expect you’d take me seriously at this.” He pulled his tie back and forth. “Guess I might owe you some kinda thank you. For, you know. Not tellin' me to get bent.”
Sylvia blinked, the flash of strangled sincerity taking her by surprise. Though it was becoming a pattern, it still felt strange to hear near-gratitude from someone who'd been a circling threat not long ago. For a breath, she hesitated. Maybe she’d been a little too caustic today, if he was actually making an effort. The thought made her shoulders loosen a notch... until another memory snapped into place: the cold slap of waking up one morning to find she couldn't legally sell half her inventory because a certain shady shark had filed a web of fraudulent patents overnight. She clung to the outrage a moment longer. He’d earned that edge, even if he was making an effort to sand it down now.
Still, if he was going to attempt self-improvement, she couldn't rationally justify making it harder for him to evolve than it already would be. Progress didn’t come easy; she knew that. Her pride still burned, but somewhere under the singed fringes, a fragile kind of tolerance started to take root.
Before she could fully untangle the knot of conflicting impulses inside her, Boss Finn coughed, waving his hand as if swatting the words out of the air.
“Alright, that’s enough sap for one day,” he said, cracking a grin that was bigger than before. “I’ll get outta your hair before you think I’ve gone completely soft.” He was already halfway to the door, his tone back to its usual swagger.
Sylvia shook her head, a faint smile on her lips as she watched him leave. “Sure. Same time tomorrow?”
“Woah, Teach,” he reeled, placing a hand on his chest, “you’re smothering me here. I’ve got a whole new business to get off the ground! But if that’s what works for you, I’ll see if I can make it happen. No promises, though. You understand. Busy, busy.”
“Mhm.” She laughed as he slipped out the door. “Sounds like a plan.”
Chapter Text
Sylvia scrubbed the cauldron with quick, rhythmic strokes, muttering under her breath about the stubborn grime. The door creaked open, slow and deliberate. She froze, the sound sending a shiver up her spine. Had she forgotten to lock it? Leaning over the counter, she squinted toward the entrance, her fingers inching toward the wand tucked beneath the edge of the countertop. The sudden rush of purple smoke slithered in like an unwelcome guest, curling and twisting in the air with no clear origin.
Anubia glided into the room, her jackal-eared headdress cutting through the smoke with an eerie grace. The temperature seemed to drop with her, a chill creeping in from the doorway as though the air itself recoiled from her presence. Her gaze swept the shop with unnerving precision, inspecting the shelves, the empty cauldrons, and the rows of neatly arranged herbs with an almost clinical interest. The faintest curve of her lips suggested amusement, but there was something pitying beneath it.
“What a quaint establishment,” Anubia crooned, her voice like soft cotton sliding over one’s face right before the noose tightens. “Though I suppose some people prefer a more… grounded approach.”
Sylvia’s spine tingled with the bite of tangible dread, but she forced her shoulders to square, standing taller as the oppressive air weighed on her. She pressed her palms flat against the counter, the wood beneath her gloves helping to hold her up. “Is there something I can help you with, Anubia?” she asked, the words controlled, but her pulse thrumming beneath.
“Oh, I simply wanted to congratulate you for making it this far in the competition,” Anubia said, her smile widening like the slow spread of a poison cloud. “It’s… impressive. A shame, though, that all this effort only delays the inevitable.”
Anubia’s smile stretched, thin and brittle, like a porcelain mask, her eyes hollow. The tension in the room thickened, the chill sinking deeper into Sylvia’s skin, but she held steady. She met Anubia’s gaze unflinchingly, her lips curving into a small, confident smile that didn’t reach her eyes, but it was enough to show she would not be easily intimidated.
“Maybe it’s you who should be worried,” she said coolly. “The people of Rafta seem to like my quality offerings.”
Anubia’s rictus grin faded and she let out a soft, mocking laugh. Her eyes glinted, narrowing with the weight of her words. “You’ve got spirit,” she purred. “But spirit alone won’t carry you very far. Success takes more than hope.” She leaned forward, one hand coming to rest on the counter, her gaze locked onto Sylvia’s. Her voice dropped, brimming with malice, as the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. “It takes ruthlessness. I have centuries of wealth to draw from. I can afford to bleed a little, starve you out slowly. Can you say the same?”
The threat hung in the air, the ringing that echoed after a slap. Sylvia didn’t let herself flinch. She met Anubia’s gaze head-on, resolute.
“I have made it this far because my customers believe in what I'm doing,” she said, her words deliberate and unwavering, “and I share that belief. After you’re finished trying to make some quick coin, I will still be here, making the potions that my customers need.”
Anubia’s smile tightened, taking in the entirety of Sylvia with disdain. After a tense moment, she turned on her heel, smoke billowing behind her as she swept toward the door. “We’ll see, Sylvia,” she murmured, voice low and dangerous. “We’ll see what your customers ‘believe in’ when they can choose convenience over conviction. This isn’t a game for the faint-hearted. Prepare for disappointment.”
The door slammed shut like a coffin lid.
The moment Anubia’s presence faded from view, Sylvia’s facade cracked. She clutched the counter’s edge, hands trembling. The adrenaline drained out of her all at once, leaving behind a hollow weight. She exhaled sharply, forcing her breath back into something approaching steady even as her heart thundered in her ears.
A soft hoot sounded from the rafters above. Sylvia glanced up to find Oswald perched there, his golden eyes fixed on her with a mix of approval and concern. His wings unfurled before he dropped down, landing gracefully on the counter beside her with barely a sound.
“She’s certainly something,” Oswald muttered, ruffling his feathers, his golden eyes never leaving Sylvia. “That resilience of yours... Remarkable.” He studied her with a mix of amusement and something else—approval, perhaps. “You didn’t flinch, not even a little. I’d say you looked like you might just swallow her whole if she’d given you the chance.”
Sylvia pressed her hands to her face, the impact of Oswald’s praise lost on her exhaustion. Her voice muffled, she sighed. “Honestly, it felt like she was the one about to chew me up and spit me out.”
Oswald cocked his head, his sharp gaze softening with understanding. “Oh, she was trying,” he said. “But you didn’t give her so much as a crack to slip through. Not a hint of weakness. Looks like someone’s learned to keep their cards close to their chest.”
A soft chuckle bubbled up. “I did, didn’t I?” she said, her smile impish as she propped her chin on one hand. “I can’t imagine where I might have picked that up recently.”
Oswald’s beak curved slightly downward, and he gave a small, reluctant shrug of his wings. “Well, if there’s one thing about that… student of yours I can stomach,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly, “he’s got the right idea about not letting anyone get under your skin.”
He cleared his throat, glancing away with an attempt at nonchalance. “Not that I’d give him too much credit.” His feathers ruffled again as if trying to dislodge any appearance of a compliment.
Sylvia wore a barely-there smile, her earlier tension easing. Then she glanced at the soapy cauldrons, her smile fading a little. “Now I just have to finish… the entire rest of the day.” She dropped her head onto the countertop, taking a moment to recover before pushing herself up.
“Okay, rinse the cauldrons, start the brews, feed the slime—no big deal. Just another day proving I’m not going to be bullied into submission.”
Oswald tilted his head, his golden eyes gleaming with something close to pride. “Don’t forget to pace yourself,” he said before flapping back up to the rafters. “Even the best potion makers need allies.”
Sylvia paused, his words striking a chord. Allies. Her gaze drifted to the clock on the wall. If she left now, she could still catch Baptiste and secure a stake in the Guild’s expedition today. The thought gave her just the spark of determination she needed.
Sylvia walked into the Heroes Guild, the massive stone arches and banners still filling her with awe despite their growing familiarity. She waved at a few adventurers and guild clerks she recognized, her steps light as she made her way to the front desk where Baptiste’s assistant sat with a scroll in hand.
“Hi, I’m here to see Baptiste about getting a stake in the expedition today,” Sylvia said, flashing a bright, friendly smile.
The assistant glanced up, offering a polite but apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sylvia, but the Guildmaster is currently in a meeting. It shouldn’t be too long if you’d like to wait.”
Sylvia sighed, her shoulders sagging a little, but she quickly recovered. She could rearrange her schedule and catch up with her hero friends in the meantime. Near the guild’s mission board, she spotted Mint in conversation with Xid, both laughing about something. A grin tugged at her lips, and she made her way over.
“Mint! Xid!!” Sylvia called, waving energetically.
“Sylvia!” Mint grinned widely and waved back, her enthusiasm infectious. “What brings you by?”
“Sending my favorite heroes into the wild so I can keep making potions for them. What else?” Sylvia replied, joining them with a laugh. She pulled Mint into a quick hug. “And getting in on one of Baptiste’s expeditions. I’d love to get my hands on a watchdog daisy, but he’s tied up right now. Figured I’d say hi and see what kind of trouble you all are planning to get into today. Where’s Corsac?”
Xid half-turned and pointed to the back corner of the hall, where Corsac sat alone, fiddling with something in his hands, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Corsac!” Sylvia called again, raising both arms to wave.
Corsac glanced up, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered for a moment on Sylvia, as if considering whether she was really going to drag him into a conversation. After a moment, he reluctantly set his project down with meticulous care and crossed the room to join them, his pace steady and deliberate. He folded his arms once he arrived, offering nothing more than a subtle shift of his lips that might have been the ghost of a smile.
“Good to see you! I was just asking what you all are getting up to today,” Sylvia said cheerfully.
Corsac’s gaze remained mostly fixed on a point somewhere beyond Sylvia’s right ear. “Just relocating some kelpies by the river. They’ve been troubling the farmers. Don’t want it to escalate.”
“I’m hunting for something with a bit more rhythm,” Xid said with a nonchalant flip of her hair, her eyes twinkling with a cool excitement. “Going to the edge of the Enchanted Forest for a tune-up with the local sprites. Hopefully, I can lure them deeper into the woods, where children aren’t as likely to wander.”
Sylvia chuckled, teasing, “I bet they’ll follow you no problem. Sprites have an eye for shiny things—and you look like trouble in all the right ways.”
Mint’s expression turned dramatic, a finger to her lips as if considering before she burst, “I’m heading to the Ice Crags! I just got new gear and I’m raring to test it out!”
“That’s awesome!” Sylvia cheered, giving her a high-five. “And perfect timing! I was hoping you three could gather a few ingredients for me. Let me just split this list up based on where each of you are going and…” She pulled out her notebook and scribbled furiously. “There! All set.”
Each of them took a list, Corsac inspecting his with a quiet nod, Xid giving her an approving finger-gun, and Mint saluting enthusiastically.
“Always happy to help!” Mint beamed. “Maybe I’ll find some watchdog daisies for you.”
“That would be great! But I’m still going to hedge my bets on the expedition. Now, I can’t send you guys off without potions.” Sylvia shared a conspiratorial smile as she reached into her bag.
“You can,” Corsac said, his voice dry. “We simply would not get nearly as far without potions.”
Mint stifled a giggle behind her fist.
Corsac’s eyes shifted, and he pulled the brim of his hat lower. “This is one of those turns of phrase, isn’t it? What you say is not exactly what you mean.”
A flush of color crept up to his ears, and Sylvia smiled awkwardly as she turned to the table, setting potions out one by one. “Yeah, sorry. I just meant I wouldn’t want you guys out there without potions.” She could see his eyes darting to the corner he had just vacated, and she quickly added, “Gotta keep you all in fighting shape! Let’s see what you need: health and mana potions, obviously, ice tonic, and…”
Her friends huddled closer, Mint peering eagerly over her shoulder while Xid leaned casually against the table. Even Corsac’s aloof stance loosened as he scanned the vials she produced.
As Sylvia finished distributing the potions, a door across the hall swung open, drawing her attention. Baptiste stepped out, his polished demeanor as impeccable as ever, and Sylvia’s heart lifted at the sight of him. With Baptiste on her side, she felt certain she could secure the resources she needed.
“Ah, Sylvia!” Baptiste greeted, his eyes crinkling with delight. “Thank you for waiting. I trust you found some good company while I was indisposed?”
“Always,” Sylvia said, smiling at her friends. “It’s nice to catch up with Rafta’s finest.”
Her gaze shifted back to Baptiste and froze. Behind him, Boss Finn emerged from the office. His towering frame nearly filled the doorway, and his grin was as sharp as ever as his gaze raked over the group.
“Looks like I’m late to the party,” he said, his voice overly smooth.
Sylvia folded her arms, her smirk widening as she met his gaze. “What are you doing here? You don’t exactly seem the hero type.”
He chuckled, pressing a hand to his chest as if wounded by her words. “Yeowch, Teach, give a guy a break. I told you I’ve got a new business takin’ flight. Turns out some of these heroes could use a tip or two about dealing with setbacks. You know, business tactics, but for the battlefield.” He threw a thumb toward Baptiste. “We struck a little deal.”
Baptiste nodded with zeal. “Yes, Boss Finn has agreed to offer life coaching sessions tailored for heroes, focusing on resilience, confidence, and a touch of business savvy—anything that might help them better navigate the challenges of their work. And the Guild will subsidize a portion of the sessions for any hero who signs up.”
Boss Finn spread his hands in a modest gesture. “Who knows better than me what it’s like to take a fall and get back up again? Figure I can pass some of that know-how along.”
Mint’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Wow, that’s actually really cool. I could use some tips on keeping morale up during tough missions.”
Boss Finn’s gaze swept over the group before settling on Mint. “Looks like I’ll be seeing a lot of you, then.”
Corsac eyed him with open skepticism, arms folded. “What makes you qualified to coach people on heroics?”
Sylvia caught the flash of a snarl in Boss Finn’s expression—the subtle flare of nostrils, the slight forward loom—but it flickered out just as quickly, replaced by an easy smirk. “I’m a survivor, friend,” he said in an oily tone. “Been in enough scraps to learn a trick or two about bouncing back. And besides”—his gaze slid over to Sylvia, the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar teasing way—“a quality mentor makes all the difference. Lucky for me, I’ve got the best around.”
Corsac didn’t relax. Xid raised a curious eyebrow at Sylvia, her silent question hanging in the air.
Sylvia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at her lips. “If you’re expecting my endorsement to work with my friends, you’d better take care of them.”
“Teach,” he replied, mock indignation coloring his tone, “you know me. I’ve got nothin’ but their best interests at heart. I think we’ll all get along swimmingly.” His grin widened, a touch too self-satisfied as he tossed her a playful wink. He clapped Corsac on the shoulder with a hearty smack that made the stoic hero’s posture go rigid, the discomfort plain on his face before returning to neutral. “So,” Boss Finn added, his voice dripping with easy confidence, “anybody here need a little extra push for the grind?”
The group exchanged wary looks, their expressions a mix of skepticism and curiosity, but Boss Finn’s grin only stretched wider. Sylvia watched, arms crossed, hiding a small, bemused smile as he drummed up his new venture right there in the guildhall. Already making clients of her friends, one hero at a time.
After finishing up her business with Baptiste, Sylvia stepped out into the sunny afternoon, the murmur of adventurers still filtering out from the guildhall. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, stealing a glance behind her as she walked. The scene inside was lively—Boss Finn was right at home, holding court with a handful of curious heroes.
Sylvia’s lips curled into a quiet smile, her gaze drifting ahead. She was halfway down the steps when the sound of hurried footsteps caught up to her.
“Wait up, Teach!” Boss Finn’s voice cut through the chatter of passersby, and she looked over her shoulder to see him close the distance in a few long strides, falling into step beside her.
“You sure know how to make an exit,” she said, her tone light but amused.
“What can I say? Priorities.” He rolled a shoulder in a loose shrug.
Her smile lingered as they walked. She cast a sidelong glance at him, noting the easy way he took stock of the street like he was cataloging everything and nothing at once. “Didn’t think you would take to the hero crowd so quickly,” she said, her voice carrying just a hint of teasing.
“Hey, I’m adaptable,” Boss Finn said. “People love a little extra confidence when they’re staring down something meaner than they are. Can’t say I relate,” he conceded with a smirk, “but I can only imagine it helps.”
“Just make sure you’re not feeding them too much of your brand of, uh… ‘charm.’ They’re not all used to that.”
He let out a low chuckle, shoulders relaxing. “What, afraid I’ll corrupt your goody-goody friends?”
“Not afraid,” she corrected, leaning slightly toward him with her hands clasped behind her back. “More like… making sure you don’t leave a trail of chaos in your wake. You’ve got to give Corsac more personal space, by the way,” she added. “And Mint’s hard enough on herself already.”
Boss Finn paused, then gave her a lopsided grin. “You got a real soft spot for these folks, don’tcha?”
“Maybe.” Sylvia shrugged dramatically, glancing sideways. “But perhaps I’m not alone in that regard?”
He scoffed, merely shaking his head.
They walked in silence for a moment, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the cobbled streets. After a beat, Boss Finn glanced at her briefly, fingers tugging absently at the loose ends of his tie.
“Hey, thanks, by the way,” he muttered, the tip his tailfin twitching once behind them.
Sylvia looked over, startled. “For what?”
“For, you know… givin’ me a shot with your pals back there.” His voice lowered, casual, but he avoided her gaze as he continued fidgeting.
“You deserve a shot," she said, voice steady. But something inside her tensed, the bitter instinct to flinch, to armor up. She let it pass. She owed it to herself to take in his efforts clear-eyed. "I wouldn’t vouch for you if I didn’t think so.”
He only grunted in response. She caught the tug of a smile at the edge of his mouth and pretended not to see it. Better to let small victories stand on their own.
The cobbled streets of Rafta grew quieter as they approached Sylvia’s shop, the bustling chatter of the market square fading into the background. The late afternoon sun bathed the storefront in a warm glow, the shadows of flower boxes above the windows stretching lazily across the pavement.
Sylvia felt the change in his stride as he slowed, his eyes scanning the storefront. He shifted his weight, his hands still tucked in his pockets, and for a moment, she couldn’t quite read his expression. She threw him a sideways glance. “What’s up? Casing the joint?”
His nose wrinkled in affront before he looked down at her in the display window’s reflection; one fist placed jauntily on her hip, her other arm playfully elbowing the air between them. He chuckled. “Nah, just thinkin’. If you’re about to open shop, seems like the perfect opportunity to see you work your magic up close, Teach. I figure it’d be pretty educational.”
Sylvia’s gaze flicked over to him, her eyebrow arching slightly. “Sure. Just try not to spook my customers,” she said with a laugh. She did not catch his slight frown before she turned away to unlock the front door.
She stepped inside, already switching into shopkeeper mode as she checked the active cauldrons, then the display shelves. Potions of every color glinted under the cozy flicker of her shop’s lights. Oswald hooted at her when Boss Finn followed her inside, and Sylvia shushed him with a wave of her hand.
Boss Finn settled in to observe from the rear wall as Sylvia stepped behind the counter. She greeted each customer with a welcoming smile that reached her eyes, her voice light but attentive as she asked questions, picking up on their unspoken needs. Her shop was filling with a diverse crowd: a few adventurers, yes, but also merchants looking to restock, artisans with calloused hands and creative spirits, and even a couple of Rafta’s more fashionable types, eyeing the shelves with a mix of curiosity and excitement.
“Something for the Ice Crags?” she asked a young hero clad in fur-lined armor. She selected a frosty blue tonic from the shelf, presenting it with a flourish that seemed to make the light dance off its surface. “You’re in luck. I just brewed these overnight. This ice tonic will protect you against the worst of the chill—and bonus, it’s great against frostbite.”
The hero’s eyes lit up as he took the potion. “Perfect! How much?”
“Seven hundred,” she said smoothly. “You’re getting the best blend I’ve got, plus a discount if you come back and tell me how well it worked.”
Boss Finn whistled low under his breath, watching her close the sale. She handled her customers with a mix of empathy and shrewdness that was impressive to behold.
A local merchant approached the counter. “Looking for anything in particular today?” Sylvia asked, flashing her best customer service smile.
The man was round, balding, and in finely woven but slightly frayed clothes. He nodded with a frown. “Yes, actually. I’ve been working long hours and struggling to keep up energy-wise. I can’t afford to slow down during the busy season.”
“Then you can’t afford to pass this up,” Sylvia replied, pulling a vibrant yellow potion from the shelf. “A quality speed potion will keep you sharp all day. Have a nip when you start flagging and you’ll feel ready to tackle anything.”
The man nodded approvingly and paid before shuffling out, clutching his purchase. Boss Finn watched as Sylvia immediately turned her attention to a woman coated in a fine layer of sawdust.
“Good to see you,” Sylvia greeted warmly. “How’s the woodworking?”
The artisan smiled. “Busy as ever, but my joints are killing me. Too many hours at the lathe. You know how it is.”
Sylvia’s brows furrowed slightly, her lips pressing into a gentle line as she watched the artisan rub her aching hands. “I’ve got just the cure for you.” She grabbed a vial filled with a calming green liquid. “This stamina potion is perfect for soothing worn-out muscles. Just take a few sips before bed, and you’ll wake up with a little extra endurance for the day.”
The woman thanked her, casting a curious glance at Boss Finn before slipping out. He half lifted a hand in lieu of a wave before she scurried out the door. Sylvia noticed his questioning look and was about to call him over to the counter when a young father took up her field of view. He had a fussy infant in tow, looking as if he hadn’t slept in days. Sylvia offered him a sympathetic smile. “Looks like you could use something for energy,” she suggested gently.
The man sighed. “Something for both of us, honestly.”
Sylvia nodded, pulling two bottles from the shelf. “This little one here is a health potion,” she explained while watering it down into several small vials. “It’ll help him sleep soundly through teething pains. And for you, a drowsiness cure to get through the day.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he said, sounding on the verge of tears as he took the bottles and paid.
When the last customer left, Sylvia turned to her observer, hands on her hips. “So? Educational enough for you?”
Boss Finn uncoiled from the wall with a fluid, unhurried motion, crossing the room like a creature utterly at ease in foreign territory. When he leaned on the counter, the wood creaked faintly under his weight. His hand spread wide against the surface, an unconscious claim to space. His gaze drifted lazily over the emptied shop before settling on her. Sylvia felt a faint, automatic jolt, an old, ingrained awareness of being in the presence of something built larger, stronger. She caught it, acknowledged it, and let it pass, keeping her focus on the present. He wasn’t here as a threat.
Anymore.
“Honestly? Watching you work, it’s like you’ve got this down to an art. These folks got all sorts of baggage, but you know exactly what to say and when.” He stopped himself, frowning slightly, like the words didn’t come as easily as he expected. “I dunno. Isn't just about the potions, is it? Feels like you’re handin’ ‘em somethin’ else too. A little relief... maybe even a shot of hope, if they’re lucky.”
Sylvia blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his analysis. “Potions are as versatile as the people who buy them,” she said, the words carrying a quiet understanding. “Everyone’s dealing with something—stress, exhaustion, worries, pain. If there’s a problem, there’s a potion that can help.”
Boss Finn studied her briefly, and the smirk that habitually danced at the corners of his lips seemed to lose some of its edge. “Guess I was wrong, thinkin’ I could just give good advice and call it a day." His voice lowered, almost in reflection. “Ain’t got a clue how you pull it off, but maybe I could learn that, too.”
Sylvia offered him a patient smile. “Most people just want to feel heard. Everyone’s carrying something, and sometimes… they just need a little help to move forward.”
His fingers dragged through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled, while his shoulders slouched. “If I’m gonna make a dent with this coaching gig, I’ve gotta nail that.” His voice wavered, and for a moment, his usual confidence flickered. “Trouble is, I'm not built for it the way you are.”
The words hung suspended for a beat. Sylvia caught the quiet admission tucked inside them, the unspoken truth that while she drew people in, he drove them back without even meaning to. It wasn’t only the sharp teeth or the heavy frame. It was the way the room shifted when he entered, the instincts he stirred up simply by existing.
She glanced away, fighting the urge to brush it off with a joke. “I don’t know if I’m the right person to teach you,” she said awkwardly. “But if you’re open to it, we can keep talking.”
Boss Finn’s gaze drifted to the countertop, the corners of his mouth turning down as he tapped the counter lightly. “Yeah. Sounds alright,” he said, almost like he was testing the words for himself. His eyes flicked to the shop’s door. “I, uh… guess I should let ya get back to it. Probably got a hundred things to juggle.”
A teasing smile crept onto Sylvia’s face. “Since when are you worried about my schedule?”
His grin returned, easy and familiar. “Hey, I got layers, Teach. Don’t go actin’ like you’ve peeled ‘em all yet.” He straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. “But don’t let me keep ya.”
She smirked, shaking her head as she crossed her arms. “I’ll let you know if I need muscle anytime soon. Don’t be surprised if I actually put you to work next time you darken my doorway.”
His chuckle was light, carrying a faint undercurrent of indulgence. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Teach.”
By the time Boss Finn had left, the shop was quieter but far from still. Sylvia stood behind the counter, absently tidying her workspace while the events of the day replayed in her thoughts. Sylvia caught herself wondering—against her better judgment—if this arrangement might actually work out for both of them.
Her gaze flicked to the door he had disappeared through moments earlier, a small smile playing at her lips. The evening stretched ahead, the shop’s usual hum giving way to the comforting quiet of Rafta at dusk.
The next day, Sylvia was sweeping dust toward the door, her broom scratching along the floor in a satisfying rhythm. The shop looked nearly perfect—counters wiped clean, shelves restocked, even a little rearranging here and there to make the place feel fresh. Sylvia leaned against the broom, her smirk widening as she observed the mop in Boss Finn’s hands. “Look at that. Only one bottle this time. Must be a new record.”
He shot her a dry look, shifting the mop handle to rest in the crook of his arm as he raised his hands, palms out. “Hey, I’m workin’ on it, alright? I’m cursed with the bull-in-a-china-shop problem. But don’t you go tellin’ people I’m tryin’ here, or my reputation’s tanked.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell everyone you broke at least four,” Sylvia shot back, smirking.
“Oh, good, you’ll make me sound like a walking business liability,” Boss Finn grumbled, though his lips quirked up. He returned to mopping. “But despite your bitin’ words, I think you’re getting toward enjoyin’ having me underfoot.”
She rolled her eyes, a small smile forming as she swept under her workbench. “If you need the validation, Finn, then sure, it’s nice to have some company while I work.”
Boss Finn’s mop froze mid-swish, his brow arching as a slow grin spread across his face. He turned to face her fully, resting an elbow on the mop handle. “So I’m just ‘Finn’ now, huh?”
Sylvia held his gaze with nerve. “Don’t make it a thing. It’s just shorter. It’s just your name—right?”
“Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t dream of making it a thing,” he said, smirking. But the hint of satisfaction in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. “Guess I’m in the inner circle, then? Officially one of these ‘friends’ I’ve heard so much about?”
“Don’t push it,” she said, though her voice was lighter now. “But… maybe someday.”
Finn sighed heavily. “I dunno, Teach. You just stole my nickname right out from under me. It’s gonna take time to build back that trust. Don’t know if I can make nice with a thief.”
“And you forced a nickname on me at the start of this whole arrangement! I think that makes us even.”
“Alright, alright,” he said, mollifying her. “Then where do I get my jacket? You know, for being in the least exclusive club on Rafta?”
Sylvia snorted in disbelief, but the smile lingered as she put away the broom. With a light jab of the bristles, she caught him off guard, watching him flinch with a satisfied grin. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but her tone was easy, playful.
“Maybe,” he replied, his grin softening a little. “I’ll definitely be impossible to get rid of as long as you keep puttin’ up with me.”
Sylvia shifted her weight as her gaze flitted to the counter. When she looked back up, her shoulders straightened, and her tone carried a hint of dry humor. “Actually—you’ll get a kick out of this—I had a bit of a run-in with Anubia the other day. She was trying to ‘persuade’ me to give up on the next round of the competition. She was all, ‘Bleh, I can operate at a loss, I’ll starve you out and swallow your soul!’ … Well, she didn’t say that last part explicitly, but she implied it.”
Finn gave up even the appearance of mopping, eyes narrowing in a blend of amusement and disbelief. “What a menace. Didja tell her to pound sand?”
“I didn’t give an inch,” she said with satisfaction. “I figured I’d borrow a move from your playbook.”
“I wouldn’t call myself much of a role model,” Finn said. “But hey, if my influence has ya makin’ Anubia sweat a little, I’ll take the credit.” His sharp gaze flicked to Sylvia, the humor in his voice undercut by something closer to respect. “That witch is used to getting her way, and she’s gonna be real surprised when you, you know…” He swabbed the mop head back and forth across the floorboards illustratively.
“Ha! Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Sylvia said. “I’ll keep that in mind next time she tries her scare tactics.”
Finn laughed, the sound rough and full-throated. “Oh, she’ll try ‘em, alright. But those types rely on the fact most folks can’t stomach a stare-down. She’s on her back foot now that you’ve shown her you’re not most folks.”
Sylvia swelled with pride, but she kept her voice light, feigning nonchalance. “I’ll take your word for that. If you’d told me six months ago I’d be here, standing my ground against people like her, I wouldn’t have believed you.”
“Well, glad you’re startin’ to believe it now,” Finn replied, his voice steady, though there was a subtle sincerity behind it. “You’ve got more fight than you give yourself credit for.”
Sylvia grinned, though she deflected with a teasing edge. “Alright, don’t go getting sentimental on me.”
Finn smirked, tugging at the loose ends of his tie, but his gaze sharpened for a moment as he caught himself. “Hey, I don’t do sentimental. Just the facts, Teach.” He stepped back, giving the mopping a once-over, his tone casual again. “Now tell me: how bad does this look?”
Sylvia feigned a thorough, critical examination of the floorboards. “Hmm. Well, considering the bottle that didn’t survive its collision with the floor, it’s about as good as I’d expect.”
He rolled his eyes, but the grin lingered. “You’re merciless.”
“I have to be!” Sylvia shot back, her smile wider now. “Look at who I’m schooling!”
Finn chuckled, tossing the mop back into the bucket with a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, yeah, tough love and all that.”
Sylvia just shook her head, the sound of their laughter mixing in the air as she straightened a few things on the counter. “It’s yielding results. At least you’re getting the hang of cleaning up your own messes.”
“High praise,” Finn deadpanned. “Next thing I know, you’ll be tellin’ people I’m downright useful.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
The shop grew quieter as Finn made for the exit, leaving behind the faint echo of their banter. Sylvia took in the gleaming counters, the spotless floor—surprising, considering his questionable mopping technique—and the shift in the shop’s usual stillness.
When he reached the door, he threw her a last, casual wave. “See ya tomorrow, Teach. Unless I get swarmed with new clients out of the blue. Anything’s possible, I guess,” he added with a sigh.
She watched the door close, and in the lingering silence, she found herself smiling before turning to the rest of her to-do list.
Chapter Text
Sylvia’s hand traced the curve of the ladle, each rotation steady as the potion’s surface rippled with faint, iridescent waves. Her eyes flicked to the recipe pinned on the corkboard, a blur of inked scrawl she didn’t need to read anymore. The bubbling brew carried the familiar tang of feyberry and bramble-rose, grounding her in the task.
Finn leaned one elbow on the counter, tracking the motion of her stirring. His weight shifted like he wasn’t fully at ease, and his lips curled into a smirk when she reached for a jar that sat just out of her reach.
“Need a hand there, Teach?” he drawled, as though he might step in to help.
Sylvia glanced at him over her shoulder, the corners of her mouth twitching. “I’ve got it, thanks. Wouldn’t want you knocking over something important.”
“Fair enough. But hey, if you ever need someone to reach the top shelves, I’m your guy. For a reasonable fee, of course.”
“Good to know—if I ever win the lottery.”
The banter set a simple rhythm, the kind that filled the silence without feeling like an intrusion. Sylvia went back to stirring, her focus split between the potion and Finn’s lingering presence. She was used to the occasional customer watching her work, but something about his quiet observation made her want to fill the air with something other than the empty bubbling.
“So,” Finn said, breaking the silence, “how’d you end up with a place like this, anyway? You’ve only been on Rafta for, what, a month? Most people have to fight tooth and nail for a spot like this. You swoop in and suddenly you’re the talk of the market.”
Sylvia paused, the ladle hovering over the cauldron. She placed it down carefully and wiped her gloves on her apron. The question wasn’t unreasonable, but answering it was still tricky.
“I didn’t buy it,” she said finally, her voice quieter. Her gaze flicked to the rafters, where Oswald perched, his eyes closed in what looked like indifference. “It was my uncle’s shop. Oswald. He ran it for years—well, sort of ran it. He wasn’t exactly great at the whole ‘business’ side of things.”
Finn leaned in, his interest piqued. “What’s that code for? Gambling debts? Shady deals?”
Sylvia snorted, shaking her head. “More like… enthusiasm without follow through.” She sighed, her smile faltering as it formed. “Let’s just say his business sense didn’t match his brewing skills.”
From the rafters, Oswald let out a pointed hoot, making Sylvia glance up briefly.
One corner of Finn’s mouth lifted, eyes narrowing as he studied her. “So, what happened? How’d it end up in your hands?”
She exhaled through her nose, resting her hands on the counter. “He went into Maven’s ruins,” she began, her voice faltering like a misstep. Her gaze dropped to the countertop, where her gloved hand brushed over an old scorch mark. “Chasing some rare ingredient. Something he thought could turn it all around. But…” She swallowed, her hand curling into a fist against the wood. “He never came back. They declared him legally dead, and I got the shop. Along with a mountain of debt and a banker who couldn’t wait to offload it all onto me.”
Finn’s smirk faded entirely. “That’s… rough,” he said, his voice lower. “Sorry, Teach. Didn’t mean to dredge all that up.”
Sylvia waved him off, though her hand trembled slightly. “It’s fine. It’s just—well, it’s a lot. You’re not wrong about having to fight for this place, though. I’m still fighting. Every day.”
Finn straightened, his arms dropping to his sides. “Yeah, but you’re winning,” he said, his voice gaining strength. “Look at this place. You’ve got it runnin’ like clockwork. Better than most shops I’ve seen, and trust me, I’ve seen plenty. Usually right before they go under.”
Sylvia’s laugh was hollow. “I have to keep it running. Losing isn’t an option. If I slip up, even once, it’s all gone. Everything I’ve worked for, everything he left behind.”
Finn held her gaze with determination. “You’re carryin’ a lot, no doubt. But you’re still making it work, even with all that weight. That’s not nothin’. I’m not saying it’s all sunshine and roses,” he continued. “But this place? It’s yours now. Not his. And you’re doin’ a hell of a job with it.”
His words settled over her, heavier than she expected. She traced a finger along the countertop, her thoughts swirling like the cauldron behind her.
“It doesn’t always feel that way,” she admitted quietly. “Most days, it feels like I’m barely keeping my head above water.”
Finn grinned, the usual mischief returning to his eyes. “Still goin’, though. That’s what sharks do, Teach. They keep swimming, no matter what.”
This time, a genuine laugh, though tinged with disbelief, bubbled out of her. “So now I’m a shark?”
“Damn right you are,” he said, slapping the counter for emphasis. “You’ve got the guts, the smarts, and the fight to make this place yours. Don’t let anyone—yourself included—convince you otherwise.”
Her lips twitched as she considered his words. “Thanks, Finn,” she said lightly, but her voice carried a hint of pleasant surprise.
He took a step back, smoothing both hands over his suspenders like he was brushing off the sincerity. “Yeah, well, don’t go makin' a big deal about it. I’ve got a reputation to protect here.”
“A reputation for what? Being a softie under all that bluster?”
“Watch it, Teach,” he shot back, pointing a finger at her. “You keep pushin’, and I’ll start billing you for the motivational speeches.”
Sylvia let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “That’s fair. But seriously—thanks for the pep talk. You’re not so bad at this support thing when you try.”
The edge of Finn's cockiness returned. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises. Just don’t expect a repeat performance anytime soon.”
As he turned to leave, Sylvia called after him, “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my expectations low.”
The door swung shut behind him, leaving the shop quieter but somehow lighter. Sylvia stood for a moment, her gaze drifting over the shelves and potions that bore her uncle’s legacy—and her own growing imprint.
A soft rustling from above broke her reverie. Oswald stirred, shifting on his usual perch in the rafters. He fluttered down, landing on the counter with a graceful hop. His gaze was sharper than usual, though softened by a faint sigh.
“Quite the conversation,” he observed, his voice gruff. “I… I’m sorry, Sylvia.” He shifted on his talons, his head dipping slightly. “I know I’ve said it before, but leaving you to clean up this mess was the last thing I ever wanted for you.”
Sylvia’s shoulders tensed, but she forced a smile as she glanced at him. “I know, Uncle Oswald. And I’m sorry for talking about you like you’re not in the room. It’s just… hard. Trying to keep your secret and not bottling everything up.”
Oswald gave a small, uneasy clack of his beak. “It’s not easy for me, either. Hearing you talk about me like I’m just some ghost haunting this place. Haunting you.” He ruffled his feathers. “I know I asked you to keep this secret, but I didn’t think about having to watch it all unfold like this. Sometimes it’s like I’m attending my own eulogy. And it’s not a favorable retrospective.”
Sylvia winced, a pang of guilt tightening her chest. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Oswald. I didn’t realize…” She hesitated, then reached out a gloved hand. Oswald grasped her index finger with one foot, his grip light but steady. “Do you want to leave when I have company? I won’t feel abandoned if you need space.”
He tilted his head, his golden eyes meeting hers. “It’s not about wanting space,” he said more firmly. “I’m here because I choose to be here. I feel responsible for you. More than ever now.” He hooted softly, a mournful sound. “Every time I see someone in here, I want to make sure they’re good to you, that they won’t take advantage of the desperate situation I’ve put you in.”
Sylvia crossed her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line as she met Oswald’s unblinking stare. “You’re not sold on him, are you?”
Oswald let out a low hoot, ruffling his feathers. “It’s not about what I think of him, Sylvia. It’s about what he’s capable of. A week ago, Boss Finn was filing patents to put you out of business. Now he’s your…” His beak clicked as he searched for the right word. “Protégé? I just don’t understand why you’re trusting him.”
“I’m not trusting him,” she said. “I’m giving him a chance. There’s a difference.”
Oswald’s golden eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice softened. “I know you want to believe the best in people—”
“No, I don’t,” she cut in, her tone sharpening as she straightened. “I’m just not afraid of giving people room to grow. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
For a moment, the tension flared between them, thick and uneasy. Sylvia’s heart thudded as doubt crept in, a small thought asking if she’d been too quick to defend Finn.
But then Oswald chuckled, a quiet, knowing sound that eased the atmosphere. “You’ve got a big heart, kid. Just make sure it’s not bigger than your good sense.”
Her lips quirked into a faint smile, though the tightness in her posture didn’t fully ease. “I’ll be fine, Uncle. Promise.” But the tiny thought lingered like a splinter.
“I’m sure you will be.” He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming. “You’re doing so well, Sylvia. Better than I ever could’ve imagined, though I should have. Better than I ever did myself. I hope you know how proud of you I am.”
Sylvia turned back to the workbench, brushing her fingers over the scattered notes. “Thanks for the encouragement,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere.
Oswald didn’t respond, though his watchful gaze lingered on her as she started tidying up. The silence in the shop was heavier than the work still left undone.
Sylvia hunched over her workbench, carefully stirring the cauldron in front of her. The molten glow of the superior silence cure glowed faintly, illuminating her focused expression. The cauldron emitted faint, irregular pops, each one a reminder of how delicate the brew was. She measured out the last ingredient with the precision of someone performing surgery on a cricket.
The shop door banged open, the bell jangling violently.
“Hey, Teach!” Finn’s voice boomed as he strode in, all but bouncing with each step.
Sylvia flinched. “Finn,” she said tightly, watching the measuring glass she’d been holding a moment ago sink down beneath the surface of the thick brew, along with the crushed scimitar crab shell it contained. She took a long, slow breath and fished the glass out with her stirring rod. “What is it?”
“Not much,” Finn said, grinning. “Just stopped by to share the good news. Guess who had a breakthrough session at the Heroes Guild today?”
“Let me guess,” Sylvia sighed. “You?” She turned her attention back to the rescued measuring glass, clamping tongs around it and carefully scooping the soggy powder inside down into the cauldron. It plopped onto the surface in an unappealing clump before sinking unevenly into the mixture. She stirred with intention; she could still salvage the batch.
“Ha! Funny,” Finn said, leaning eagerly on the counter. “Your little hero buddy Mint? She’s got potential, Teach, real grit. Turns out—”
“Stop,” Sylvia said, her hands pausing mid-stir as the handle bit into her gloves. She spun sharply, her brows furrowed. “You can’t just waltz in here and start spilling personal stuff about my friends.”
Finn blinked, his excitement dimming. “What? I’m just sayin’ she’s got guts, and it’s my job to help her figure things out.”
“It’s also your job to keep it to yourself.” Sylvia’s tone cut like a knife. The frustration she’d been holding back all day swelled in her chest, making her voice taut. She returned to the cauldron, her stirring rougher now, causing the potion to splash faintly against the sides. “What Mint told you is confidential. You don’t get to decide who else needs to know it.”
Finn hesitated, his usual swagger faltering. “I wasn’t trying to air her dirty laundry,” he muttered, his hands fidgeting with his ever-untied tie. “Just thought you’d want a heads-up. You two are close, right?”
Sylvia rounded on him, her voice rising. “And did you tell Mint about my problems? My debt? Is that something you thought she might need a ‘heads-up’ about?”
Finn stiffened, his hands freezing mid-tug. “No, I wouldn’t do that, Teach. That’s different.” His fingers were back at his tie, pulling at it with quick, agitated movements.
Sylvia’s gaze locked on the motion. The uneven rhythm of the fidgeting made her teeth grind. She tried to keep her focus on the cauldron, but the incessant pull was like a mosquito buzzing in her face.
“How is it different?” Sylvia demanded. “Confidential is confidential!” Her voice cracked slightly, and she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “And would you stop with the tie?!”
The sharpness of her words hung in the air. Finn blinked, then glanced down at his hands, caught mid-motion with the bowtie. “What, this?” he asked, his grin creeping back as he gave the fabric an exaggerated tug. The sound of the rustling grated on her frayed nerves, fingernails on a chalkboard. “Habit, I guess. Does it bother you or something?”
Sylvia abandoned her stirring and turned to face him, hands clawing at the air in exasperation. “Yes! It’s distracting, it’s annoying, and you’re going to drive me to drink. Or maybe I’ll throw that damn tie in one of my boiling cauldrons. Your choice.”
Finn straightened, his lips turning down into something more thoughtful. “Drink, huh? Well, if you insist…” He adopted a mock-serious tone. “I know just the place. You seem like you could use a break.”
“What? No!” For a moment, her thoughts scattered, grasping for purchase. “That’s not what I meant!”
“Come on.” His tone shifted, quieter now, but still threaded with his signature charm. “You’ve been workin’ yourself ragged in here. A little fresh air and a stiff drink would do you some good.”
Sylvia hesitated, suspicious of the genuine concern underlying his words. Her instincts told her to refuse, but the tightness in her shoulders and the ever-present tension in her mind conspired to suggest that perhaps he had a point.
But she knew exactly where she stood while she was in here, behind the counter. The cauldrons bubbled quietly, a gentle simmer accompanying the sight of neatly organized shelves brimming with ingredients. Everything was set for the evening.
“I’m not following you!” she called as Finn strolled toward the door, tossing her a smug grin before he stepped outside.
The tavern was lively, the hum of conversations and clinking mugs filling the stuffy air. Sylvia’s chair scraped against the worn wood floor as she shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. She glanced at Finn, who had abandoned any attempt to sit reasonably, his bowtie dangling loose around his neck and one arm draped over the chair back.
She sighed, swirling her drink. “You ever heard of sitting like a normal person?”
Finn hunched forward. “What’s normal, Teach? Sittin’ up all straight and fancy? That more your style?”
“No,” she said flatly, eyeing his exaggerated slouch. “But this—this is almost impressive. You look like a deflated accordion.”
His laughter rumbled out, turning heads at nearby tables. Finn didn’t seem to notice or care, the grin on his face widening like he’d just scored a victory. “Can’t let anyone think I’m too polished, y’know? Gotta keep my rugged charm intact.”
Sylvia snorted, taking a sip of her drink. “Charm. Right. Let me know when you find it.”
“You’re in rare form tonight,” he said, tapping the rim of his tankard with one finger. “Almost makes me think you’re enjoyin’ yourself.”
Sylvia shot him a pointed look. “Don’t push it.”
Finn tilted his head, studying her with a flicker of amusement, calculating. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave—for now.”
She exhaled sharply through her nose, setting her mug down. “Speaking of. Earlier, about Mint? That was out of line.”
Finn’s smile faltered. He rubbed the back of his neck, his tie shifting slightly with the motion. “Yeah, I know. You were right to call me out.”
The immediate concession landed like a stone in still water, sending a ripple of surprise across Sylvia’s features. “Wow,” she said. “Didn’t expect you to admit that so readily.”
“Hey,” Finn said, spreading his hands. “I’m not a complete jerk. I know when I’ve messed up. Doesn’t mean I like it, but…” He trailed off. “You’re good at keepin’ me honest, Teach. I’ll give you that.”
“No, don’t put that on me,” Sylvia groaned ruefully. “I’ve already got a full-time job.”
“Don’t worry—I’m not asking for overtime,” he said with a wink.
Sylvia chuckled, contemplating her mug. She hesitated before saying, “Maybe I wasn’t totally fair, either. With the whole tie thing. It wasn’t even about the tie! I was just at the end of my rope, and… I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Finn waved her off with a flick of his hand. “Pfft. Don’t lose sleep over it. I can take a little bite now and then.”
Sylvia shook her head, though she couldn’t quite suppress her amusement. “Still, I wonder.” She leaned forward, crossed arms resting on the table. “You’ve got this whole suave thing going—sharp shirt, snazzy suspenders, crisp pants, polished shoes—and then that tie’s just hanging there, undermining the whole thing.” She indicated the offending accessory with the hand holding her drink.
Finn smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Gotta strike a balance, Teach. Too put-together, and people’ll think I’m some stiff business type. Too sloppy, and I look like I don’t care. This?” He flicked the loose tie. “This says, ‘I play the game, but I don’t follow all the rules.’”
Sylvia stared at him, fighting to keep any trace of laughter out of her voice. “That’s what you think it says?”
“Look, not everything’s gotta be tied up neat and tidy all the time, y’know? People, business, life—it’s all a little messy, and that’s not a bad thing.” He glanced at her, his expression more subdued. “Sometimes you just let the tie hang loose and roll with it.”
Sylvia blinked, momentarily disarmed. “That’s… unexpectedly profound. For you.”
“I contain multitudes, Teach.” The slyness crept back into his grin.
She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are. Guess that means I’m doin’ somethin’ right.”
Sylvia sighed dramatically. “Or I just have a high tolerance for nonsense.”
“Nah,” Finn said, tapping his temple. “You’re curious. You wanna figure me out.”
Sylvia narrowed her eyes at him, but the spark of challenge in her gaze didn’t quite match the indignation she tried to summon. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that interesting.”
Finn smirked, tilting his head. “Maybe not, but you seem to like a puzzle. Turning foes into friends—it’s kinda your thing, isn’t it?”
She felt a pang of disquiet at the observation. “What’s your point?”
Finn shrugged. “Just sayin’. You like a challenge, Teach. I’m not complaining—keeps things lively.”
Sylvia’s expression was flat, though her lips twitched, betraying her amusement. “You’re really reaching.”
“Maybe,” he said, lifting his tankard in a mock salute. “But it’s workin’, isn’t it?”
Sylvia muttered something under her breath, taking another sip of her drink to hide the laugh that threatened to escape.
They lapsed into a comfortable rhythm of banter after that, the earlier tension slipping away like the foam on their drinks. Occasionally, Finn would make an over-the-top remark just to get a rise out of her, and Sylvia found herself rolling her eyes less and laughing more as the evening wore on.
By the time they called it a night, Sylvia’s shoulders had relaxed, the tension of the day easing without her noticing. Finn might still have his moments, but when he wasn’t deliberately poking at her patience, he had a way of making his company unexpectedly easy to endure.
As they stepped out into the cool evening air, the conversation had faded into a comfortable lull, the kind that didn’t demand filling. Sylvia glanced at Finn out of the corner of her eye, catching a thoughtful expression before his usual smirk returned.
“What are you thinking about over there?” she asked, tilting her head with an exaggerated curiosity that tugged at the corner of her smile.
“Nothing,” he said. He stuffed his hands into his pockets with a casual shrug. “Just thinkin’ you’re not half-bad company, Teach.”
“And you're a halfway decent student.”
Their paths diverged as they walked into the night, the rhythmic footsteps fading behind them. Sylvia didn’t dwell on the exchange, but the understated weight of his words clung to her, echoing longer than she expected against the stillness.
Sylvia hesitated outside the beach hut, the rough wood door sun-bleached and cracked at the edges. She adjusted her grip on the package in her hands, the newspaper crinkling faintly under her gloves. Before she could talk herself out of it, she rapped her knuckles against the frame.
The door swung open, revealing Finn in all his usual confidence, though the flicker of surprise in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze dropped to the package, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What’s this, Teach? A bribe? Don’t tell me you’ve got a cauldron that needs movin’.”
Sylvia hummed, ignoring the jab. “No agenda. Just thought I’d thank you for all your… investments. You’ve been generous, and I thought it’s about time I returned the favor.” Her tone was light, but her shoulders stiffened under his scrutiny.
Finn stepped aside, waving her in with a mock flourish. “Oh, this oughta be good.”
Sylvia blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Driftwood walls, rough and asymmetrical, enclosed the room. The aged wood creaked under the weight of mismatched, rickety furniture and a tattered couch with the look of something salvaged from a shipwreck. Small boxes, geodes, and polished stones overflowed from an uneven bookshelf, next to a collection of mismatched knick-knacks; the whole thing seemed precarious and dusty.
Finn, standing by a counter that doubled as a kitchen, caught her skeptical expression and smirked. “Not what you expected, huh?”
Sylvia shook her head, still taking it all in. “No, but it’s got a certain charm.” A breeze from the ocean swept through the open windows, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed. “It’s very… connected to the surroundings.”
Finn scoffed. “That’s a nice way of saying ‘exposed to the elements,’ Teach.” He gestured around the room. “It’s not much, but talk about location! Beachfront property doesn’t come cheaper than this.”
“Beachfront? This is almost in the water.”
“Suits me,” he said with a shrug.
Sylvia’s skeptical gaze lingered on the elegant crystal decanter in pride of place upon the table, the fine woven blanket draped over the back of the couch; signs of what actually suited Finn. She nodded diplomatically as she turned her attention back to him, holding out the package.
“Here,” she said brightly, leaning forward a little. “Open it.”
Finn peeled back the paper with excessive care, his curiosity piqued. Revealing the contents—several glistening fish nestled inside—he blinked, then looked up at Sylvia, his expression a little less certain.
“I thought you’d like it,” she said, trying to sound casual but feeling a little embarrassed. “Fresh from the market.”
Finn paused for a moment, his fingers absently pulling at his bowtie, a flicker of awkwardness crossing his face. “I appreciate the thought, Teach. I do. It’s just… I live right by the ocean. Got fresher fish swimming outside my door.”
With a barely perceptible wince, Sylvia’s fingers began toying with the cuff of her glove. “Right, okay. Maybe not my best idea.” Her eyes drifted to the geodes in the corner, then flicked back to Finn. “Next time, I’ll pick something shinier.”
“That might be a hit. But seriously, thanks,” he offered, looking briefly unguarded. The moment of sincerity was short-lived. “Nice to know you’re thinkin’ about me in your off hours.”
Sylvia narrowed her eyes, grinning. “Don’t start. This is one of those ‘friend’ things. Like feeling bad when you give someone a dud gift.”
“We’ll find a use for them,” Finn said, eyeing the fish thoughtfully. “Y’know, your place is probably better equipped, bein' more spacious and all. I could cook us up something special. Shouldn’t let a friendly gesture go to waste.”
Sylvia rested her chin on her fist wryly. “Cooking in my shop? I’m trying to figure out what kind of scheme this could be…”
“Hey, you’re the one foisting fish on me,” Finn shot back, laughing in disbelief. “In fact, I’m startin’ to think you plotted this whole thing. Get me to make you dinner and make it seem like it’s all my idea. Clever move, Teach, but I’m onto you.”
Sylvia laughed, shaking her head. “Oh no, you’ve figured me out. But if you’re cooking, I’m at least cleaning up after.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Finn said, wrapping the fish back up and ushering Sylvia toward the door. “Alright, let’s get moving before I change my mind. I’m about to whip up the best fish dinner your little shop’s ever seen.”
“What are you making? Is it a surprise?” she asked, eyes sparkling as she exited. Then, more practically, asked, “Do you need any more ingredients?”
“Nah, not really. Just lemon and butter, and you’ve got those, right?”
“Butter, yes. Lemons… no.”
Finn groaned theatrically, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” He went back inside, returning moments later with two lemons and shutting the door behind him.
“Offloading your fish and stealing my lemons,” he tutted. “You’ve got a real racket goin’, Teach. Is it safe to assume you have salt and pepper?”
She glared up at him. “You’ve got a lot to say for someone so eager to take over my kitchen.”
“If I’m the one turnin’ your generosity into a masterpiece, you’d better believe I’m takin’ that job seriously,” he said, almost keeping a straight face through the entire line. “Now c’mon. I’ll show you how Boss Finn handles dinner.”
The savory aroma of lemon and fish filled the shop as Sylvia sat back in her chair, her fork hovering with hesitation. Across from her, Finn polished off his plate with gusto and a slight shimmy of his shoulders.
“Well?” Finn leaned forward, sharp eyes gleaming. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Admit it—this beats whatever sad excuse for a meal you were planning tonight.”
Sylvia forced down another bite, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and repulsion. “It’s… flavorful,” she managed, reaching for her water.
“C’mon, don’t hold back,” Finn said, wagging his fork at her. “This is top-tier cuisine we’re talkin’ about. Lemon, butter, just the right touch of salt—perfection.”
Sylvia coughed in disbelief. “A ‘touch’ of salt? Finn, this fish could double as a mineral deposit.”
Finn laughed, clearly unbothered. “That’s just how we do it in the water, Teach. Builds character.”
Sylvia shook her head, laughter in her eyes. “Yeah, a whole lot of character. Who just has lemons lying around?”
“Citrus is essential for seafood,” Finn said, leaning back with a casual air of authority. “Salt and acid—it’s the holy grail of good eatin’. You can’t call yourself a cook without a stash of lemons.”
“Of course,” Sylvia deadpanned, “lemon hoarding—step one in the culinary playbook.”
“You’re catchin’ on.” Finn smirked, tapping his temple. “Stick with me, Teach, and you’ll be a pro in no time. Even if you do have the palate of a land-dweller.”
Sylvia crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “If you keep that up, I might just send this salty abomination to Muktuk. He’s got some very strong opinions on seasoning.”
Finn threw his head back with a laugh, standing to clear the dishes. “Fair enough. But next time, I’m turning you into a proper seafood lover. I’ll tone it down—for you amateurs.”
Sylvia rested her chin in her hand, watching him with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Next time? So you’re already planning your next invasion?”
Finn glanced at her over his shoulder, a casual shrug adding to his easy confidence. “Why not? Your shop’s cozy, I’m great company, and someone’s gotta keep your dinner standards from sinkin’ to rock bottom. Can’t have my mentor livin’ off candy apples and instant noodles. No wonder you’re running on fumes.”
Her laughter slipped out before she could stop it, light and a little too chummy. “Fine. But next time, you’re not allowed to add any extra salt.”
“Deal,” Finn said, his grin softening as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Thanks for lettin’ me have the run of the place. Feels good to mess around in a decent kitchen.”
Sylvia’s gaze lingered for a moment, her smile genuine. “Thanks for cooking. Even if I’m pretty sure I need a gallon of water to recover.”
Finn chuckled, pointing at her with mock seriousness. “Hydration’s important. Consider it part of my master plan to keep you in top shape.”
Sylvia shook her head, laughing as he split up the leftovers. “Alright, alright. But next time, I expect fewer electrolytes and more balance.”
“Don’t you think about ratios enough already?” Finn headed toward the door, winking over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Teach. Next time, we can even make dessert. Just don’t expect it to be any less salty.”
Chapter Text
The morning sun cast golden beams across the shop as Sylvia rubbed the sleep from her eyes and worked on tallying her expenses. A fresh tang cut the faint, earthy notes of brewing potions in the air around her workbench. Her gaze flicked to the counter, where Finn had placed a small crate of oils, vinegars, spices, and lemons.
“You know,” Sylvia muttered, her quill scratching against the ledger page, “most people would bring coffee or maybe pastries when they drop by—not enough supplies to open a bistro.”
Finn, leaning lazily on the countertop, crossed his arms. “These are just staples, Teach. Might up your instant noodle game.”
Sylvia gave him a sidelong glance, suppressing a grin. “And the lemons? Those are essential supplies, too?”
“I keep tellin’ you,” Finn said, as though the answer were obvious. “They’re almost as versatile as potions: flavor, zest, and weapon against scurvy.”
Sylvia leaned back in her chair, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were moonlighting as a pirate.”
The doorbell rang out at the end of her sentence and Sylvia looked over, expecting an early customer. Instead, the figure that stepped in brought with her a ghoulish chill entirely distinct from the crisp morning air. Anubia entered with her usual air of superiority, her sharp eyes taking in the shop with quiet disdain.
“Well, well,” she said, her tone honeyed but sharp. “You’re open early, Sylvia. I suppose desperation does that to a person.”
Sylvia straightened but remained seated, setting her pen down carefully. “If you’re here for potions, I’d be happy to help, but I don’t keep business hours for gloating.”
Anubia’s lips twitched into a thin curve as she wandered farther in, her heels clicking against the floor. “Oh, I don’t need your… wares. I’m just curious about how you’re holding up. It must be exhausting clawing for scraps while the market leaves you behind.”
Sylvia’s jaw tightened, her smile small and sharp. “Funny. I was just wondering the same thing about you. All that money, all those centuries, and still no better way to spend your time.”
Finn snorted quietly, earning a sharp glance from Anubia. His relaxed posture remained, but his sharp eyes watched her closely.
“You’ve still got your spirit, I’ll give you that,” Anubia said, ignoring Finn as she turned her attention to Sylvia. Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “But that won’t save you. I could clean out every vendor on Rafta, snap up every rare ingredient from the Guild, and undercut your potions until they’re worth less than water. Maybe I’ll do just that. It might amuse me to watch your business suffocate.”
Before Sylvia could respond, Finn pushed off the counter, his smile cold and pointed. “That sounds like a lotta bark and no bite.”
Anubia’s gaze snapped to Finn, her words dripping with scorn. “And here I thought Sylvia’s pet shark was just for show. How adorable—defending your master.”
Finn’s teeth glinted as his lips pulled back. “Careful, doll. Callin’ me a pet’s a good way to lose a hand. Not that you’d miss it. You don’t strike me as the type who gets 'em dirty.”
The air in the room thickened, choking with malice. Anubia’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she tilted her head, her smirk returning.
“How fitting. Underdog and guard dog. Well,” she said as she glided toward the door, “I hope you enjoy the last few days before the competition, Sylvia. Perhaps you’re not as helpless as you seem, but either way, I’ll put you down.”
With that, she swept out, the bell ringing behind her with a funereal finality.
Sylvia leaned her elbows on the counter, looking at Finn with her face fixed in a careful mask. He stood with his arms crossed, watching the door as if daring Anubia to step back through it. There was something about his quiet confidence that settled the air, but it also made her bristle—she didn’t want anyone, least of all Anubia, thinking she couldn’t handle herself.
“You really enjoy jumping in, don’t you?” she asked, her tone teasing but with an edge.
Finn's hands went to his suspenders with a hint of pride. “What can I say? Folks oughta know there are consequences to swimming in shark-infested waters.”
“I can stand up for myself, you know,” Sylvia said, her voice lowering, fingers tapping lightly against the counter. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Finn shrugged. “Didn’t have to, sure. But you’re not fightin’ her alone, Teach. Leastwise, not while I’m around.”
Sylvia hesitated, her gaze drifting for a moment as she weighed his words. She then straightened, letting her arms fall to her sides. “I appreciate the thought. Really. But I need to win these battles on my own. Otherwise, they don’t mean anything.”
Finn studied her, his posture shifting. “Fair point, Teach, but your network is everything. People watchin’ your blind spots, supply lines you can count on, allies who give a damn. You hammered that into my thick skull on day one of this whole arrangement.”
“I did?” The unexpected earnestness in his voice, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor, made her blink.
Finn smirked, but it was more subdued. “Yeah. And I figure it’s not much different here. You’re tough, no question, but even the toughest folks get by a little easier when someone’s got their back. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
Sylvia raised her chin, a playful glint in her eye. “So, what, are you proposing that you’re the guard dog in my network now? Because you didn’t seem thrilled with the comparison a minute ago.”
“Anyone else’d be asking for trouble,” he said, chuckling. “But comin’ from you, Teach? Don’t sound half bad. Guard dog’s loyal and keeps trouble in check. Kinda fits, don’t you think?”
Her grin widened despite herself. “Alright, fine. But no more swooping in before it’s necessary. Got it?”
Finn raised his hands in mock surrender. “Promise, Teach. I’ll work on that.” He gestured toward the door. “I oughta get goin’, though. Busy day and all.”
“See you around,” Sylvia said, the shop door swinging shut behind him.
She turned back to her workbench, a renewed sense of determination settling over her. Whatever lay ahead—Anubia’s threats, the competition, or even just making it through another week—she knew she wouldn’t face them alone. And maybe, just maybe, having someone like Finn in her corner wouldn’t be a terrible thing.
As Sylvia stepped out into the street and shut the door behind her, her mind barely had time to settle before a new sense of unease gripped her. The sky above Rafta had grown ominously dark, the patchwork of grays and purples in the distance swirling like a fog on the verge of descending. It felt wrong—too deliberate, unnaturally uniform.
She locked up and hurried to the Heroes Guild, the worry following her like a shadow.
Inside, the usual clamor of activity had dimmed. Adventurers sat in tense silence, nursing tankards of ale, but no one seemed eager to prepare for their next mission. A strange pall hung over the room.
At the counter, Baptiste stood sorting through reports, his brow furrowed.
“Sylvia,” he said when she approached, looking up with a somber expression. “I was hoping you wouldn’t need to stop by today.”
“Well, I do,” Sylvia replied, her voice edged with urgency as she glanced toward the map behind him. “I’m running low on ingredients, and the competition is only a few days away. What’s going on? Why isn’t anyone heading out?”
Baptiste exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting back to the map. He gestured for her to come closer. “I’ve suspended expeditions beyond the Mushroom Mire for the time being. There’s something spreading.”
Sylvia stepped closer, her frown deepening as she took in the dark ink blotting out most of the map. “What do you mean, ‘something?’”
Baptiste’s voice dropped to a hushed tone, his eyes scanning the room as though expecting someone to overhear. “Some sort of… pestilence. It’s not like any environmental effect we’ve seen before.” He hesitated, then spoke with careful weight. “Heroes who’ve gone near it report nausea, confusion, and hallucinations. Worse, the effects don’t seem to be alleviated by potions or tonics. It’s sorcery. Powerful sorcery. Until I can ensure everyone’s safety, I can’t, in good conscience, send them out on missions.”
Sylvia’s chest tightened. “But I need those ingredients. If you don’t send anyone, I’ll have nothing to work with for the competition. I’ll—” Her voice faltered, though she quickly regained control. “I don’t have time to wait for this pestilence to clear.”
“I understand your frustration,” Baptiste said, his tone gentle but firm, his eyes full of sympathy. “But I have a responsibility to protect my heroes. They trust me to put their wellbeing first, and if something were to happen…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”
Sylvia clenched her fists, trying to suppress the panic rising in her chest. She took a deep breath, pushing it down. “I understand.” But the weight of his decision was suffocating. “Any idea what’s causing it?” she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with a growing dread.
Baptiste hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the window, where the smoke seemed to grow darker. “We can’t say for certain… but the timing is suspicious, don’t you think?”
Sylvia’s heart sank, the pieces falling into place. “Anubia?”
Baptiste nodded grimly. “It’s possible. She’s made no secret of her resources or her magical prowess. Regardless, until the pestilence abates—or someone powerful enough to break it steps in—there’s nothing I can do.”
Sylvia’s head spun. Her stomach churned. “Great,” she muttered, the words hollow. “So, no expeditions, no ingredients. That’s a setback.”
“I wish I had better news, Sylvia,” he offered, his voice low. “But for now, you’ll have to make do with what you’ve got.”
“I will,” she said, forcing herself to steady her breathing. “But this…” Her words trailed off. She turned toward the door, the pressure in her chest growing with every step.
“Stay safe, Sylvia,” Baptiste called after her.
She didn’t respond, but his words echoed in her mind, foreboding. The sky outside seemed darker still.
“You sold it all to her?” Sylvia’s voice rose, disbelief laced with fury. Her grip on her broomstick tightened, the stitching of her gloves digging into her fingers. “You had plenty of inventory yesterday!”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed, their crook bobbing slightly as they shrugged, exhaling deeply. “What was I supposed to do, Sylvia? I tried to jack up the prices—thought it’d scare her off, but nope. There’s no price too high for her. Anubia paid full in gold, no haggling. When someone’s waving that kind of money, you take it. Simple economics.”
Sylvia’s jaw clenched, her frustration boiling over. “She’s trying to ruin me, Quinn!” She leaned forward on her broom, her voice sharp and raw. “You know that, right?”
Quinn’s shoulders dropped slightly, but their voice stayed sharp, defensive. “Look, I didn’t want to screw you over. I really didn’t. But I’ve got my own problems, alright? I run a shop, not a charity. You’re resourceful, Sylvia. You’ll figure something out. You always do.”
Sylvia’s throat tightened, the panic clawing at her insides, and she wanted to scream. Instead, she forced herself to nod, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks for the vote of confidence. If I throw that and a feyberry into a cauldron, I’ll have a feyberry.”
With a sharp turn of her broom, she veered away from Quinn, the bitter taste of frustration lingering on her tongue. As she sped off toward home, her mind raced with thoughts of the competition and how efficiently Anubia made good on her threats. The weight of it all pressed down on her chest, a premonition of defeat worming in as she realized just how much further this could spiral.
Her heart pounded, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how hard she tried to fight back, she was already losing.
Back at her shop, the hours dragged. Customers trickled in, few and far between, and those who showed up were more trouble than they were worth.
“I can get this potion for half the price from Anubia,” one customer sneered, putting a shadow tonic back on the shelf. “What makes yours worth double?”
Sylvia clenched her jaw, forcing a smile. “Quality and care. You won’t find better than what I make here.”
“Sure,” they said, looking critically around the shop. “But I’ll take my chances with hers. You should think about your prices.”
“If you want Anubia prices, go buy Anubia potions!” Sylvia snapped, her patience finally breaking. The words flew from her before she could stop them. “You get what you pay for!”
The customer recoiled, muttering under their breath as they hurried out, and Sylvia stood there, seething with frustration. With a loud clang, the door sealed her in the stillness of her shop amidst the dust motes floating in the sunbeams. The scant number of purchases reflected customers’ greater interest in cost than in the value of her product.
She gritted her teeth, fighting back the surge of panic rising in her chest. Slumping behind the counter, she rubbed her temples. Oswald fluttered down beside her, his wings rustling lightly.
“That went about as well as a one-winged owl trying to fly,” he said.
“Thanks a lot,” Sylvia said dryly.
After closing early for the day, she took stock of her remaining ingredients. The collection was pitiful: a bit of this, a few remnants of that. There was nothing close to what she needed to win the competition, and the few high-grade ingredients she’d counted on were nowhere to be found.
She stared at the dismal selection for a long moment, her mind racing. Then she pulled out her notebook, opening it to the page detailing her planned potions for the competition.
“Okay,” she muttered, trying to steady her thoughts. “No new stock. Limited ingredients. Few customers willing to pay full price. What’s the play?”
Oswald watched her from his perch. “You could try focusing on the fundamentals.”
“Mana potions and health potions,” Sylvia murmured, jotting it down. “I have a surplus since I wasn’t able to send them out with any heroes today. Can’t afford to brew more; I’ll need every ingredient I’ve got for the competition or—”
Sylvia paused, a thought catching her attention. She glanced over at the red slime sitting in a terracotta pot on the far wall. It was fat and content, having finished replicating the dwarf kraken she’d fed it earlier. A flicker of hope sparked in her chest. That could work.
She set down her quill and walked over to the bulbous slime. She gave it a gentle tickle on top, remembering Corsac’s instructions. It shivered in response to her touch, opening its mouth—a gaping hole where two dwarf krakens slipped out, their bodies still covered in a thin patina of pinkish slime.
“Anything I don’t need for the competition brews is going to the slimes.”
Oswald tilted his head. “Plural?”
“I’m going to get more,” Sylvia said, the plan already forming in her mind.
She hurried to the storeroom, quickly grabbing a fragment of scimitar crab shell and a handful of mandrake root. The slime’s mouth opened eagerly, and she fed the shell to it, avoiding any contact with her gloves. She scattered the mandrake root around the slime’s base, feeling a flicker of excitement.
“I have to do more with what I’ve already got,” she stated, her voice taking on a focused, businesslike tone. “Getting more slimes from Corsac is my best shot.”
Oswald gave her a knowing look. “Don’t forget to advertise. If Anubia’s cutting prices, you’ll need to remind people why they should buy from you.”
Sylvia nodded, already moving toward the door. “I’ll go see Luna. She can whip something up for tomorrow.”
She hesitated at the door, hand on the knob, the enormity of the pestilent fog heavy in her mind. But something had shifted within her. The fear was still there, but so was a new, steely resolve.
“Anubia wants me to give up,” she said, her voice hardening with determination. “But I’m not going down that easy.”
Oswald hooted in agreement. “That’s the spirit! Show her why you’re the best potion maker on Rafta.”
Sylvia stepped into Luna’s shop, trying to push past the sinking feeling in her chest. The shop’s usual cheerful atmosphere—colorful banners fluttering in a non-existent breeze, shelves lined with sample brochures—seemed miles away from the apprehension blooming inside her. She forced her voice to sound steady, but she could hear the edge in it when she spoke.
“Luna?”
Luna’s frantic muttering drowned out Sylvia’s voice. The moth darted between her workstation and the cluttered corkboard, pinning and unpinning mock-ups with wild energy. Her face scrunched in frustration as she flipped through piles of paper.
“Where is it?” Luna muttered, rifling through a stack of flyers. “I know I made a backup—unless… no, I couldn’t have deleted it! Could I?”
Sylvia stepped closer, feeling the weight of her own mounting pressure. “Luna,” she began again, this time more firmly.
Luna finally snapped out of her spiral, blinking at Sylvia and focusing long enough to meet her eyes. “What? What do you need? Judging by the stress lines on your face, I’d say you might be having an even worse day than I am.”
Sylvia sat down across from her, sinking into the chair as the exhaustion of the day hit her all at once. “Anubia has the heroes grounded, bought out Quinn’s shop, and undercut my prices. If I don’t do something drastic, I’m toast.”
Luna straightened, her stress momentarily forgotten as her professional instincts kicked in. “Okay, okay, so you need a counterstrike. A big, splashy campaign to pull customers back in. Hit me with the details—what’s the angle?”
Sylvia inhaled deeply, forcing herself to focus. “We need to make basic potions shine like gold. Something that makes the everyday stuff—health potions, mana potions—feel indispensable. Not just for adventurers, but for everyone.”
Luna’s eyes narrowed in thought, her earlier panic melting into a focused intensity. “Got it. Everyday essentials marketed as must-haves. Okay, let’s tie it to the heroes—get them to endorse your potions as part of their daily routine. When the people of Rafta think, ‘If it’s good enough for heroes, it’s good enough for me,’ they’ll come flocking.”
“That’s the goal,” Sylvia said. “But can you pull it off?”
Luna scoffed, though the vibration of her antennae betrayed her nerves. “Please. I’ve built campaigns from scratch with less time and more stress than this.” She stood, pacing with the manic energy that Sylvia relied on. “I’ll hit up Baptiste for testimonials—he’ll do that if it’s for you. Then I’ll plaster the slogan everywhere: ‘Good for Heroes, Good for you!’ It’s relatable, catchy, and makes your potions feel like a staple.”
Sylvia nodded, her mind already racing ahead to what she needed to do next. “And what about Anubia?”
Luna froze mid-step, her mouth curling into a coy smile. “Oh, I’ve got something for her, too. Those creepy smoke clouds have everyone on edge. What if we just… hint that she’s behind them?”
“We don’t know that for sure.” Sylvia’s frown deepened. “Won’t that backfire if people figure out it’s just a rumor? ”
Luna shrugged, the smile still playing on her lips. “Not if we keep it subtle. I won’t say it outright—I’ll just steer the conversation. ‘That haze is so unnatural. Who could have the power to pull off something like that?’ People will connect the dots themselves.”
Sylvia couldn’t help but smirk despite herself. “You’re a little diabolical, you know that?”
Luna’s laughter was strained and her gaze faltered for a moment, the playful energy fading slightly. “Call it a survival instinct,” she said, her tone frayed. She glanced at Sylvia, her earlier energy rising again. “Look, I’ll make this work. But I need you to be ready. If I get the word out, you need to make sure you have enough potions to match the hype. By the time we’re done, Anubia’s discounts will scream ‘desperation.’”
Sylvia leaned forward, placing a hand on Luna’s arm, the connection grounding them both for a moment. “Thank you, Luna. I can always count on you to come up with something brilliant.”
Luna’s cheeks pinked, her gaze shifting downward as she rubbed her arms. “Oh geez, Sylvia, you say the nicest things. Now get out there—I’ve got a mountain of work to do.”
As Sylvia turned toward the door, a tightness coiled in her chest, but this time, it felt different—less overwhelming, more focused. The path ahead was clearer now. She still had a lot to do, but the slimes were her priority, and that meant the Heroes Guild was next on the list.
The cool evening air seemed to reignite Sylvia’s tattered nerves as she touched down and hurried toward the Heroes Guild for the second time that day. The plan was in motion—Luna had given her the outline, the spark—but the flight over had given her too much time to think.
What if the rumor didn’t take? What if it did, and turned on her? What if it looked like petty sabotage? What if she couldn’t brew fast enough to meet the demand Luna was about to stir up? What if she brewed too fast and churned out inferior potions? Her thoughts tangled like knotted thread, each question yanking at the last. Even now, with her boots hitting the cobbled path outside the Guild, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was two steps behind.
She stepped under the broad stone archway—and nearly barreled straight into Finn.
“Whoa there, Teach,” he said, catching her by the shoulders before she could crash into him. “You’re movin’ like a barracuda with a grudge.”
Sylvia blinked, jolted back into her body. She stepped away quickly, brushing off her gloves. “Sorry,” she muttered with the barest eye contact before glancing down, straightening her tunic.
Finn’s smile was easy. “No harm done. I’m runnin’ on a surplus of good vibes. Heroes sitting around the Guild means plenty of ‘em needin’ a good pep talk. Been a crowd favorite today. Just gonna grab lunch.”
“Great,” Sylvia said, too curtly, moving past him. “Glad someone’s having a good day.”
His grin faltered as he turned to follow her a step. “What’s got you twisted up?”
She stopped abruptly, spinning to face him. “Anubia. ‘All bark and no bite?’ She’s poisoned the wilds, bought out every ingredient in sight, and tanked potion prices. My shop’s empty, my customers are cheap, and I have a razor-thin margin for getting back on track before competition day. So forgive me if I’m not in the best mood while I’m being buried alive.”
Finn held up both hands, his posture stiffening as he took a cautious step back under the torrent of her words. For a fleeting second, a crack formed in his expression—almost a wince, almost a retreat—but it was gone before she could pin it down, smoothed over by that easy, infuriating grin.
“Easy, Teach. I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” she cut him off, her voice slightly more restrained. “I just have to focus right now.”
He hesitated, studying her carefully before nodding. “Alright. Fair enough. Just don’t go thinkin’ it’s hopeless, Teach. You’ve dealt with worse.”
“Have I?” she asked sharply. “Because this is even worse than when you were patent trolling me every other day. Right now, it feels like I’m just—” She exhaled with a shake of her head, cutting herself off this time. “Never mind. I have work to do.”
Finn hesitated. “Ah, so you’re bringin’ that up now, huh?” he said with a little chuckle. There was a note akin to guilt in the sound, though that may have been wishful thinking. “I’ll admit I wasn’t exactly playin’ fair. But hey, you were just as competitive.”
Sylvia’s jaw set, clearly not in the mood for playful banter. “‘Competitive’ doesn’t come close to what you were doing.”
Though his shrug was nonchalant, there was an undercurrent of something apologetic beneath his flippant tone. “Eh, well… that’s how the game is sometimes. But hey, we’re not playin’ that way anymore.”
His grin returned, though it lingered uncertainly, as if waiting for something. When she didn't respond, he pressed on. “Maybe I wasn’t so on the level before, but I’ve got your back now. That’s gotta count for somethin’, right?”
Old wounds still stung, but Sylvia’s shoulders eased ever so slightly as she nodded once, her hands still tight at her sides. The tension in her frame lessened just a fraction. “Sure. I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, stepping aside. “Take care, Teach.”
Sylvia didn’t have the time for more words. She turned toward and continued deeper into the guildhall, her pace brisk, her satchel bouncing against her hip. Finn’s thoughtful frown lingered behind her, but her eyes were set on Corsac. He might be her last hope to gather the supplies she needed.
The dim chatter of heroes in the guildhall buzzed in the background as Sylvia wasted no time heading over to Corsac at a corner table. His calm, reserved demeanor usually stood out starkly amidst the lively crowd in the hall, but today he nearly blended in with the hushed assemblage of aimless adventurers.
“Corsac!” Sylvia called, the urgency in her voice earning a raised eyebrow from him.
Corsac glanced up from the bow he was restringing, his expression as stoic as ever. “Sylvia. You seem… pressed.”
“I am pressed,” Sylvia admitted, gripping the back of a chair as she leaned forward. “I’m completely stuck. I can’t brew the potions I need for the competition without more slime pots.”
With a subtle frown, Corsac set down the half-finished project. “You didn’t stockpile?”
“I didn’t think I’d need to,” Sylvia snapped, then immediately winced at her tone. “Look, I didn’t plan for all of this, okay?” she said, gesturing out the window at the distant, purple clouds. “I was focused on refining my recipes and making it to the end of the week.”
Corsac’s gaze stayed steady, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve been putting too much time into Boss Finn.”
Sylvia stiffened, the familiar flare of defensiveness rising quickly. Her jaw clenched, and she shot back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re barely focused on your true priorities,” Corsac said, his tone blunt but not unkind. “You’re trying to prop up someone who worked to undercut you. Why?”
The pressure of the day was building, a slow suffocation she couldn’t escape. Her words came out sharp, the exhaustion making them more cutting than intended. “You were a rival not that long ago, Corsac. And now I consider you a friend. Does that make me an idiot, too?”
Corsac withdrew, though his expression didn’t close off completely. He didn’t answer right away, but when he spoke again, his tone was measured. “I didn’t undermine you, Sylvia. I’ve always believed in sustainable potion crafting, not crippling my competitors. Boss Finn is a different beast. Operates on opportunism, not principles.”
Sylvia’s chest constricted as she exhaled, ragged, trying to expel the mounting tension. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her posture rigid, as though holding herself together was the only thing left she could control. “I don’t have time for a lecture, Corsac,” she muttered, her voice taut with frustration. “I’m barely hanging on. Finn’s been helping me out, okay? He’s trying to do better. And I’m trying to stay in business.”
Corsac studied her in silence for a long moment, searching her face as if weighing his next words. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad,” he said, his gaze lingering on her clenched fists. “I just... worry for you.”
The words glanced off of her. “I don’t need your worry. I need your help. Do you have more slimes or not?”
Corsac paused, the corner of his mouth twitching downward. Then, without further comment, he moved with deliberate calm, reaching into his pack. He set five terracotta pots on the table, each containing a shrunken slime—each a different color, their tiny forms perfectly still.
Sylvia’s eyes darted to the pots, a wave of relief rushing through her like cool water. She did a quick mental calculation, her fingers tapping restlessly on the table. “I can afford… two.”
Corsac pushed three pots toward her. “They’re yours.”
Sylvia stared at the additional slime, and the magnitude of his gesture hit her hard. “Thank you,” she said, her voice small, a touch of weariness in it. She fumbled with her coin pouch, but it was insignificant next to the generosity in front of her.
“Don’t waste them.” Corsac returned to his bow, his motions slow and purposeful.
“I won’t,” Sylvia said, gathering the slimes into her satchel. She stood up, shoulders a little less stiff, though the pressure hadn’t lifted completely. “Thanks, Corsac. I mean it.”
Corsac gave a curt nod, meeting her eyes for only a moment. “Good luck, Sylvia.”
Sylvia didn’t answer, feeling the weight of the slimes in her bag—finally, something tangible in a day full of chaos. Still, it wasn’t enough. Not yet. With Corsac’s help, she had a foothold, but the cauldron still needed an upgrade.
The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal greeted Sylvia as she stepped into Muktuk’s forge. He was hard at work, sweat glistening on his fur as he expertly shaped a glowing piece of iron on his anvil. The heat of the forge was oppressive, but Sylvia barely noticed it, the desperation of her situation pressing her forward.
“Muktuk,” she called, her voice firm but tinged with urgency. “I need your help.”
Muktuk paused mid-swing, looking up at her with curiosity. “Sylvia! Your presence is always welcome in my forge. But your tone—it speaks of great need.”
She nodded, clutching the strap of her satchel tightly. “It’s Anubia. She’s breathing down my neck. I need to make something out of the scraps I have left, but my crater cauldron can’t handle the workload. Can you upgrade it? Quickly?”
Muktuk nodded sagely, tusks gleaming in the forge’s light. “Ah, a dire situation indeed. To push the limits of alchemy, one must first push the limits of their tools.” He plunged the hot iron into a basin of water, giving her his full attention. “You are asking for an expedited upgrade. I can do this, but haste demands sacrifice. I will need additional materials to reinforce the cauldron’s core and stave off instability.”
“What do you need?” Sylvia asked, her voice steady now, more focused.
“Something durable—the tusk of an elder being—and something to enhance the flow of magic within the cauldron. Xenoplasm would be ideal.”
Sylvia’s resolve hardened. There was no time to waste. “Alright. I have what you need. Thanks, Muktuk. I knew I could count on you.”
Muktuk bowed deeply, his tusks nearly brushing the floor. “The bond between artisan and alchemist is sacred. Go, Sylvia, and let your courage guide you to victory! I will pick up your cauldron shortly and have it ready for you at dawn’s first light.”
Sylvia offered a small, grateful smile, already taking a backward step. “Sorry I can’t walk back with you—I have to get those new slime pots set up as soon as possible. But thank you, really. For everything.”
Muktuk straightened with a proud gleam in his eye. “It is no hardship to walk alone when one’s heart marches beside a worthy comrade. Do not dally! I shall see to the forge.”
The sun was dipping low on the horizon as Sylvia returned with three more slime pots in tow, her mind swirling with plans, doubts, and strategies. The market’s vibrant hum was winding down, and the quiet of her shop’s doorstep seemed oddly stark. She was mentally ticking through the list of adjustments she’d need to make when something unusual caught her eye—a small bag dangling from the doorknob.
Frowning, she approached cautiously, half-expecting another sabotage courtesy of Anubia. But when she untied the bag and peeked inside, her brow furrowed in confusion.
A candy apple.
Sylvia paused briefly, her fingers gliding over the smooth paper wrapping as she drew it out. She unfolded the small note tucked beside it, the bold handwriting leaping off the paper.
Rough days come and go, Teach. Don’t let it sink you. You’ve got this.
She stared at the note. Finn’s voice echoed in her mind, unmistakable even on paper. A quiet laugh escaped her, surprising her with its joy. Despite everything—despite the weight pressing down on her—he managed to remind her that she wasn’t carrying it all alone even when he wasn’t there.
Her exhaustion seemed to ebb for a moment, replaced by a warmth that, for the first time all day, made her feel… steadier. But then Corsac’s warning echoed in her mind, sharper now than when he first said it. She knew Finn wasn't a sure bet, wasn’t someone a cautious person would back. But she wasn't betting on the past. She was betting on what she saw now: the small, stubborn ways he showed up, even when he didn’t have to. It wasn’t blind trust. It was a calculated risk. And she'd made peace with that.
Carrying the bag inside, she set it on the counter and took a deep breath. The battle wasn’t over—not by a long shot. Still, she hadn’t come to Rafta to roll over and give up. Anubia didn’t want a fight, but Sylvia was ready to give her one.
She lined up her three new slimes on a shelf next to the veteran red slime, already primed to spit out more scimitar crab shells for her. Sylvia fed all four slimes with the remnants of her silence cure recipe: a petal of courtier’s orchid, a dash of owlbear pheromones, a puff of medusa spore, and a peel of reef radish. After she stuffed the slimes with supplementary ingredients to increase their overnight yield, she could finally unclench her entire body and relax.
Candy apple in hand, she sank into her chair, savoring the first bite that pierced the sugared shell. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a delicious diversion. And in that moment, she was bolstered—not just by the sweet, but by the simple reminder that even in the middle of her fight, while she was running around town, someone thought she deserved a little treat.
Chapter Text
The morning light filtered softly into the shop, doing nothing to cut through the chill of early hours without the ambient heat of burbling brews. Sylvia was bent over her slime pots, her movements mechanical, eyes narrowed with focus as she harvested the slimes. The sharp tang of crushed roots and acrid slime clung to the air, mingling with the faint metallic whiff of the cauldron. Bottles and jars jostled for space on the counter, an organized chaos split into two precarious piles: competition essentials on one side, expendables on the other. Sylvia brushed a damp strand of hair from her temple, the motion leaving a streak of slime on her face. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as though the weight of yesterday’s mistakes hadn’t left her chest.
There was a muffled knock at the door before it creaked open with a deep, friendly groan. Sylvia glanced up, wiping her gloves on her apron before trying to mask the tightness in her chest. The doorframe seemed to stretch as Muktuk’s enormous form filled it, and the scent of heated metal and oil followed him inside.
“Aha! Sylvia!” he boomed, his tusked grin lighting up the room. “Rising early with the heart of a champion!”
Sylvia’s lips pulled into a tight smile, but it didn’t extend beyond her mouth. “Muktuk, I’m glad you’re here. Got the cauldron I need?” Her voice was steady only because of her effort to keep it so.
Muktuk let out a deep, rumbling laugh that shook the air. “This one”—he gestured grandly at the cauldron on the dolly behind him—“will carry the very essence of your spirit, of your work. It will stand strong against all that you must face!”
Sylvia’s fingers brushed against the cauldron’s edge, feeling the cool metal through her gloves. She focused on the weight, the solid craftsmanship of the piece, trying to center herself. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, her eyes tracing the intricate design of the cauldron, but her thoughts wandered and the gnawing feeling in her stomach refused to let up.
Muktuk’s grin dimmed, the fire in his eyes softening to a steady ember. He leaned in, one massive mitten patting the cauldron as though it were alive. “A cauldron this fine needs more than fuel and magimins. It craves intention, Sylvia. Your fire. Your heart. Without them, it’s nothing but empty metal. But in your hands?” He tapped the rim with a tusked smile. “It becomes a vessel for greatness.”
Sylvia nodded, though her mind wasn’t entirely on his words. Her fingers tightened unconsciously around the edge of the cauldron, the small friction reassuring. She tried to steady her breath.
“I’ll make sure my potions are worthy of your craftsmanship,” she promised, trying to focus on the task ahead and on the cauldron that now held the potential to save her business.
“They will be!” Muktuk’s voice boomed with pride. “Do not doubt yourself. Your passion will fuel it, and the brews you make will be as strong as the heart you put into them.”
Sylvia offered him a small, sincere smile, her chest loosening ever so slightly with his words. She had to believe it. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
Once the newly upgraded cauldron was safely in place, Sylvia turned her attention to the ingredients before her. It was time to prepare her silence cure for the competition; the only brew she would make today. The air in the room grew heavy with the scent of herbs and the sharp tang of the potion base. Her hands moved with a steady determination as she portioned the ingredients, but she could still sense the weight and exactness of each step. She needed precision above all else.
The pressure was mounting—her movements fluid, yet there was an undeniable tension in her muscles. Every motion was deliberate, the careful stirring of the brew, the addition of ingredients, all contributing to the silence that hovered in the air. Soon, the simmering brew filled the room with its fragrance, mixing with the other smells around her workbench. But beneath it all, her guilt lingered, the sharp edge of yesterday’s frustration still nagging at her. The slight tremor in her hands, the way she gripped the cauldron, the subtle force behind every measured movement.
As she worked, her thoughts drifted to the people she needed to apologize to—Finn, Corsac, and Quinn. She had unleashed her frustration and stress on everyone the day before. They deserved better from her.
With a last glance at the brewing silence cure, she stood up, gathering her supplies. The invisible pressure of the day ahead settled on her shoulders, but it wasn’t as unbearable now. She had the tools, the support, and the resolve to face what was next. One step at a time, she told herself. The day would come with its own challenges, but she had the heart to rise above them.
First, though, she needed some good kindling.
The scent of freshly cut wood and wildflowers hung in the air as Sylvia touched down outside Saffron’s open-air workshop. The faun knelt over her workbench, her legs tucked neatly under her as she leaned into the meticulous task of carving a delicate spiral into a sturdy piece of timber.
Sylvia hopped off her broomstick with a jolt of nervous energy, urgency spilling over as she hurried to Saffron’s side. “Saffron! I need your best kindling!”
Saffron straightened, brushing wood shavings from her apron, her gentle demeanor unshaken. Her leafy prosthetic hand curled softly over her carving tools as she turned to face Sylvia. “This sounds crucial.”
Sylvia exhaled sharply, her hand darting to push back her flyaway hair. “You don’t know the half of it. Yesterday was… rough, and Anubia’s throwing everything at me. If I don’t brew fast, I’m sunk. Your fuels burn hotter than anything else.”
Saffron’s calm eyes studied Sylvia, her expression serene but perceptive. “A strong flame is vital, that’s true,” she said, her voice a soothing counterpoint to Sylvia’s agitation. “But trying to rush the fire can snuff it out entirely. Have you stopped to take a breath yet today?”
“I don’t have time for deep breathing right now,” Sylvia replied, the sharpness in her tone betraying her fraying nerves. She immediately withdrew, regret flickering in her expression. “I’m sorry. I just—everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I’m holding it together by a thread.”
Saffron nodded, the motion slow and intentional as she stepped toward a set of carefully stacked crates. Her hand traced over the ridges of a bundle of scaly wood before lifting it with natural ease. “I can see that. Here.” She handed Sylvia two bundles of kindling, neatly wrapped in burlap. “This will burn steady and strong, just like you need.”
Sylvia accepted the kindling, her gloved fingers tightening around the rough fabric. It felt akin to holding onto a rope over the edge of a cliff. “Thanks, Saffron. What do I owe you?”
The carpenter shook her head, her antlers catching the sunlight in soft glimmers. “You can settle up after the competition. I trust you.”
Sylvia blinked, her brow furrowing with incredulity. “You’re serious? I—thank you. That’s… That’s huge.”
Saffron’s leafy hand curved gently over Sylvia’s shoulder, its cool, smooth surface a sharp contrast to the callused warmth of her other hand. “Breathe, Sylvia,” she said softly, inhaling deeply. Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, the sound blending with the rustle of the trees and the quiet calls of distant birds. Sylvia hesitated, her own breath catching, then exhaled, the tension unspooling from her lungs like threads unraveling under careful fingers.
Saffron smiled, her copmassionate expression steady. “Better?”
“A little,” Sylvia admitted, the words escaping with a quiet laugh. “You’re like a walking meditation, you know that?”
Saffron’s nose crinkled as she laughed. “That’s a lovely compliment. Just remember, Sylvia, you’re stronger than you feel right now. Even when it’s overwhelming, you have the spirit to see it through. And you can always take one minute to breathe.”
Sylvia nodded, the tightness in her chest easing just slightly. “You’re right. Thanks for the reminder—and the wood.”
Saffron waved as Sylvia mounted her broomstick, the bundles of kindling securely tucked away in her satchel. “Good luck, Sylvia. Let the fire guide you.”
As Sylvia zipped away, Saffron’s encouragement stayed with her, a steady ember against the whirlwind in her mind. Hope took root alongside her determination.
Sylvia soared back into town on her broomstick, the wind tugging at her hair and carrying away any lingering scent of wildflowers. The silence cure would be bubbling away in her new cauldron, and her slimes were well-fed and thriving. For now, there was nothing else to do back at the shop—except dwell on her missteps.
The streets below bustled with shoppers and vendors, but her focus was upward, where Quinn’s floating shop loomed like a mischievous grin against the sky. The pestilent smoke Anubia had conjured loomed ominously in the distance, a grim backdrop. But Sylvia forced her gaze forward—this wasn’t about the chaos out in the wilds. Not right now.
Quinn had been the first to endure her temper, and they deserved the first apology.
Sylvia steeled herself. It was no use overthinking it. She just had to fly up to Quinn’s shop, face them, and own up to her mistakes.
Quinn lay stretched out on the crook, asleep—or pretending to be. They didn’t open their eyes when Sylvia approached, but their voice sliced the air like a dagger.
“Well, if it isn’t Sylvia the Scourge. Come to tear into me some more? Or maybe you’ve got a monster in mind to finish the job.”
Sylvia flinched but floated closer. “Quinn, I—”
“Let me guess,” Quinn interrupted, fixing her with one eye. “You ‘didn’t mean it.’ Or, wait, no—‘it wasn’t about me.’” They waved a contemptuous hand. “Save it. I’ve heard it all before.”
Sylvia took a shaky breath. “You’re right. There’s no excuse for how I acted yesterday. I was stressed out, but that doesn’t make it okay to lash out at you.”
Quinn’s head tilted just enough to catch Sylvia in their sharp gaze. Their lips twisted, half smirk, half sneer. “Huh. That almost sounded sincere,” they said, their voice cutting.
Sylvia pressed on. “I mean it. You’ve been there for me in ways no one else has. Like Vendi? That old girl has kept me afloat on the days I can’t bear the thought of haggling with one more customer. Without your help, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”
Quinn snorted. “Vendi, huh? Funny how the mimic doesn’t bite your head off, but I get all the claws and fangs.”
“I deserve that,” Sylvia admitted. “I was awful, and I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me. You are. More than you realize.”
Quinn’s expression flickered fleetingly, their prickly exterior cracking for a moment before it returned. They closed their eyes again. “Too much of this, and I’ll think you actually like me or something.”
Sylvia hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I do like you, Quinn. You’re my friend. And I want to do better by you.”
Quinn finally sat up, turning to her with a guarded air. “Friend’s a strong word. Pretty sure I’m more like the shady supplier who might feed you to a mimic if the price is right.”
Sylvia chuckled softly. “Nah. You’re the shady supplier who gave me that mimic in the first place. Big difference.”
Quinn stared, their eyes narrowing in an assessing way that made Sylvia feel like a bug pinned under glass. Then their shoulders eased, and they snorted, a wry grin tugging at the corners of their mouth. “Fine. You’re off the hook—for now. But next time you go full meltdown?” They tapped their chin with exaggerated deliberation. “I might just let Boxer chew the apology out of you.”
Sylvia laughed, the tension in the air finally easing. “There won’t be a next time,” Sylvia said with a relieved smile. “Thanks, Quinn. For everything. I promise when I get some new ingredients again, you’ll be the first to know.”
A slight softening of Quinn’s expression followed their shrug. “If you know what’s good for you.”
As Sylvia took off, the heavy weight of guilt lifted a little, replaced by a quiet sense of relief. There were still more apologies to make, but this was a good start.
As Sylvia descended from Quinn’s sky-bound shop, the first thing she noticed was the bright array of posters that had cropped up across Rafta’s bustling streets. Pinned to noticeboards and pasted on the sides of buildings, they featured heroes—some mid-battle, others in relaxed camaraderie—touting the efficacy of her potions.
Sylvia’s gaze lingered on a poster where a rogue grinned mid-flip, a bottle of her mana potion in one hand. The slogan underneath made her chuckle softly: “Nothing hits the spot like Sylvia’s Mana Potion—because I never run out of tricks!” She reached for the strap on her shoulder, realizing the knot there had eased. The corners of her lips stayed upturned as she ran her hand over another poster. Luna and Baptiste had outdone themselves, turning her work into something heroes proudly flaunted. She rolled her shoulders, exhaling the tension she’d gotten used to holding.
Sylvia stepped into the Heroes Guild, blinking against the glow of hanging lanterns. The sharp scent of polished steel mingled with leather. Heroes huddled in tight groups, their voices blending into a low hum as hands clinked mugs or adjusted gear straps. A glance toward the quest boards revealed their emptiness, though hopeful eyes darted toward the Guildmaster’s office. The persistent energy contrasted with the bruised fog swirling outside, creating a cocoon of resolve.
Her attention snagged on a short line forming outside a door on the far side of the hall—Finn’s temporary office. The space was essentially a glorified closet, far from glamorous, but heroes seemed eager to step inside. A small, satisfied smile crossed her lips. She considered waiting to speak with him, but decided against it. The line wasn’t long, but it was steady, and she didn’t want to get in the way. There’d be an opportunity to talk at a less busy time.
Her gaze swept across the room until she spotted Baptiste near the job board, chatting with a hero in polished armor. She hesitated for a moment, then approached.
“Baptiste,” she said as he turned toward her, a polite smile already on his face.
“Sylvia! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I just wanted to say thanks.” Sylvia gestured vaguely at the posters outside the guildhall. “You really went above and beyond with Luna’s marketing campaign. I really appreciate it.”
Baptiste’s smile widened. “It’s my pleasure, truly. Luna deserves most of the credit—her vision is unmatched. But I’m glad we could support you.”
“Well, let’s hope it’s working.” Sylvia recognized her own nervous smile forming.
“It should. Heroes need a product they trust,” Baptiste said smoothly. “And someone they trust to make it. You’ve earned it, Sylvia.”
She nodded, feeling a flicker of pride to balance the persistent weight of the week. “Thanks again.”
They parted ways, and Sylvia moved deeper into the guildhall, spotting Corsac in his usual corner, fiddling with a non-lethal trap. He seemed focused, but looked up when she approached.
“Corsac,” she said, stopping a respectful distance from the table.
He nodded once. “Sylvia.”
Sylvia leaned slightly against the table, fidgeting with the edge of her satchel. “I owe you an apology,” she began. “For yesterday. I lashed out at you, and that wasn’t fair. You’ve always been honest with me, and I value that.”
Corsac set the trap down, his expression pensive. “I should have kept my comments about Boss Finn to myself. I overstepped.”
Sylvia’s brow lifted slightly. “I appreciate that,” she said, a gentler tone creeping into her voice. “But I also know you only said something because you’re looking out for me. And… I appreciate that, too.”
He gave a small nod, his expression unreadable but his posture less stiff.
“That said,” Sylvia straightened, her tone cooling as she squared her stance. “I’ve made my decision about Finn.” Her fingers brushed the strap of her satchel, a steadying gesture. “And I’m trusting my instincts on this one.” Her gaze locked with Corsac’s, steady but unyielding. “I hope you can respect that.”
Corsac’s brow twitched, a subtle precursor of acknowledgment before he finally nodded. “Understood.” Then, to Sylvia’s surprise, he extended a hand.
Her eyes flicked to his outstretched hand for a beat longer than was polite. A handshake struck her as tantamount to a hug coming from Corsac, and the realization sent a strange pang of gratitude through her. She clasped his hand, her grip firm.
His handshake was steady, brief, and to the point. When their hands parted, he shifted slightly, his gaze skimming to the side before landing back on hers. “Good luck,” he said, his voice measured. “Sounds like you’ve still got a lot ahead of you.”
“I do,” she admitted, standing straighter, the weight of the day settling differently now. “But I’ve got the right tools for the job, thanks to friends like you.”
At that, Corsac blinked. “Right,” he said, his tone awkward. He busied himself with rearranging a few small tools on the table, as though he could brush away the compliment along with the dust.
Sylvia bit back a small smile. “See you later.”
The market streets were alive with movement as Sylvia approached her shop, broomstick slung over her shoulder. Her steps slowed when she saw a small group of townsfolk clustered near her window display, their gazes fixed on the vibrant array of health and mana potions she’d carefully arranged that morning. One of them leaned closer, pointing out the unique shimmer of a label that caught the light.
The sight was a welcome reassurance—business was picking up. She flashed a smile and gave them a friendly wave. “I’ll be opening shortly,” she called, feeling a swell of pride at her display.
The group acknowledged her with nods and murmurs, stepping aside to let her unlock the door. Sylvia slipped inside, the quiet hum of activity outside keeping her spirits lifted. She moved briskly toward the back of the shop and down to the basement, where Roxanne had made herself at home.
The succubus lounged on her vanity chair, idly flipping through study materials. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and brimstone.
“Roxanne,” Sylvia began, climbing carefully down into the room, “I could really use an enchantment today—something subtle but appealing. You know, a boost to help my potions stand out.”
Roxanne looked up, one arched eyebrow lifting as a sly smile spread across her face. “Ah, finally realizing the power of presentation, are we, darling?”
Sylvia ran a gloved hand down her face. “I’ve always understood the importance of presentation. I just need a little extra today.”
Roxanne stretched languidly, her movements deliberate and graceful. “Well, well, I suppose I could assist you. For the proper price, of course.”
“You do live here rent-free, you know,” Sylvia said wryly.
Roxanne’s smile sharpened intensely. “And for the privilege of having ready access to my enchanting expertise, that arrangement will remain in place.” Her tone softened, though, as she gestured for Sylvia to bring the potions forward. “But in the spirit of generosity, I’ll grant you a severe discount today.”
Sylvia snorted but couldn’t hide her grin. “Generosity doesn’t really suit you, Roxanne. Are you feeling okay?”
Roxanne chuckled darkly. “Oh, don’t get used to it. I’m simply hedging my bets. If you go out of business, I’ll have to pay rent elsewhere.”
She snapped her fingers, and intricate runes flared to life around her hands. Sylvia hefted the crate onto the table with a soft thud, stepping back as Roxanne’s fingers began tracing intricate patterns in the air. Sparks ignited at her fingertips, flaring into glowing runes that danced above the potions. A faint hum filled the room, like a charged wire, making Sylvia’s skin prickle. She caught a fleeting taste on her tongue—sharp and sweet, like biting into a sugared orange peel. The potions shimmered in response, their hues deepening into radiant crimson and cerulean, coaxed into brilliance by the enchantment’s touch.
“There,” Roxanne said after a moment, flicking her hands into a dramatic pose. “They’ll be irresistible now. Though, as always, success ultimately depends on your… less magical talents.”
Sylvia smirked, lifting the crate with care. “Thanks, Roxanne. I’ll make sure these potions—and your handiwork—shine today.”
“You’d better,” Roxanne purred, reclining once more. “Now, off you go. I have far more entertaining ways to spend my day than catering to your whims.”
Sylvia carried the crate back upstairs, her spirits bolstered. With the enchantments giving her potions an edge and a crowd already gathering outside, the day seemed full of potential. She flipped the sign to Open and welcomed her first customers with a confident smile.
The cheerful chime of her shop bell rang one final time as Sylvia handed a grinning artisan her last mana potion. Coins clinked into her register, marking the successful end of her sales day. She couldn’t help but smile as she turned the sign on her door to Closed and stretched her arms high above her head. Her earlier worries were a distant memory now.
Oswald perched on his usual spot, his eyes glittering with pride as she returned to the counter. “Quite the haul, eh, kid? I’d say I taught you well, but you’re outshining anything I’ve passed on to you.”
Sylvia laughed. “I’ve had good advice along the way. And a lot of trial and error. But thanks, Uncle Oswald.” She gave him a playful salute before heading to the cauldron where her silence cure had cooled.
She carefully decanted the shimmering potion, the vivid, glassy liquid almost glowing as she poured it into bottles. The batch was as close to perfect as she could have hoped, thanks to the tweaks she’d made after her last trial. Her fingers moved with surety as she sealed the corks.
After labeling and setting the bottles aside, Sylvia turned to her slime pots. The slimes burbled softly, their jellylike bodies wobbling as she harvested their yields with growing experience. She fed them fresh ingredients, earning a happy jiggle in return, before turning her attention to her next brew.
A surge of determination swept through her. She could do this. She would finish her tolerance potion tonight, and the insight enhancer tomorrow.
For the first time in days, everything seemed to be falling into place.
Sylvia was carefully feeding a log of scaly wood into the fire elemental’s open maw when she caught a flash of movement outside the shop. She looked up to see Finn waving at her through the window, his grin as sharp as ever.
“Hold on!” she called, brushing her gloves together to shake off a bit of soot. She unlocked the door, and Finn ambled in.
“Figured you’d be burnin’ the midnight oil, Teach,” he said, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the workshop. His eyes lingered on the bubbling cauldron and the jolly slimes before flicking to her, as if assessing her mood. “Looks like you’re back on the upswing.”
Sylvia let out a long breath, swiping a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “Yeah, today went pretty smoothly,” she said. “Cleared out the shelves, brewed a new batch, and even managed to deal with the slimes.” She glanced at her gloves, where faint streaks of dried goop in multiple colors still clung to the leather. “Mostly without getting slimed.”
Finn folded his arms and tilted his head. “Glad to hear it. You seem like you’re in a better spot than yesterday. Didn’t mean to crowd you when you were already feelin’ the heat, by the way.”
Sylvia winced slightly, her smile faltering. “Actually, I owe you an apology for snapping at you. You were just trying to help, and I let my stress get the better of me. So—sorry about that.”
Finn blinked, then chuckled, his sharp grin returning. “No harm, no foul. Trust me, worse folks have chewed me out harder.”
Sylvia snorted softly. “Doesn’t mean you deserved it.”
“Usually do, though.” He threw in a self-deprecating wink.
Sylvia let out a small laugh, her posture relaxing further. “Then I appreciate you letting it slide. And thanks for the candy apple. It really hit the spot.”
Finn’s grin lost its edge, and he adjusted his collar, his fingers brushing his neck. “Well, figured you could use something sweet after the day you were havin’. No grand gesture, but hey—it’s a classic, right?”
Sylvia nodded, her tone brightening. “It was perfect. Seriously, thank you.”
“I feel bad, though, leavin’ you hanging when you were in a tight spot,” he said. “Been buried in work with those heroes. They’re crawling up the walls, bein’ all cooped up.”
Sylvia waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, I’m glad things are going well for you. You deserve it.”
Finn shrugged skeptically. “Anything I can do to pitch in now? You look like you’ve got this place humming, but y’know, if you need me.”
Sylvia tilted her head thoughtfully, her lips quirking in a half-smile. “Actually, there is something. Tomorrow I’ll be finished brewing my last competition potion, and it’d be great to practice pitching them all to Robin. He’s not exactly an easy sell.”
Finn’s smile turned roguish. “Oh, I like the sound of that. Talkin’ up potions is a lot easier than wrangling those heroes. You got yourself a deal.”
Sylvia laughed, a note of lightness in her voice. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. And don’t forget your best ethical tips.”
Finn gave her a two-finger salute as he stepped outside, flashing her a last grin over his shoulder. “Night, Teach.”
Sylvia watched him go, her mood buoyed. She grinned to herself, her hands resting lightly on the lip of the cauldron. Finn was right—her shop was humming, and she could feel her confidence restored with every completed step. Tomorrow, she’d perfect her insight enhancer, and with Finn’s help with practicing her pitch to Robin, she’d be ready to face the competition.
For now, though, the bubbling cauldron and the flickering flames filled the workshop with a steady, comforting rhythm, grounding her in the moment. Everything was moving in the right direction.
Chapter Text
The rhythmic clatter of hurried footsteps and the jingle of the shop bell shattered the calm of Sylvia’s morning routine. Mint burst into the shop, breathless, her cheeks flushed from exertion.
“Sylvia!” she panted, leaning on the counter for support. “You… have to hurry… big news!”
Sylvia’s grip tightened on the dust rag she was holding, her breath hitching as a knot formed in her stomach. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
Mint shook her head vigorously, her grin wide and unstoppable despite her gasps for air. “No! The fog—it’s gone! Completely gone. It just disappeared overnight!”
Sylvia blinked, the words taking a moment to register. “Gone? Seriously?” Her voice pitched upward with disbelief, then quickly shifted to excitement. “That’s… that’s amazing! Mint, thank you for running all the way here to tell me!”
Mint straightened, still catching her breath, but too energized to stay still. “Of course! I knew you’d want to hear it ASAP. But you’d better get to the Guild fast if you want a stake in today’s expeditions. Everyone’s already gearing up!”
Sylvia was already halfway to grabbing her bag. “You’re the best. Catch your breath. Here—” She tossed Mint the shop key. Mint caught it, her reflexes sharp despite her exertion.
“Lock up for me when you leave, okay? I’ve got to move!” Sylvia called as she dashed out the door.
Mint gave her a thumbs-up, beaming. “Got it! I’ll meet you back at the Guild.”
Sylvia hit the cobblestones running, her boots thudding against the street as her breath quickened with anticipation. After a few strides, she leapt onto her broom. With a surge of wind and a flash of motion, she was off, soaring above the early-morning streets of Rafta toward the Heroes Guild.
The morning air was crisp and alive with the sound of activity, and as Sylvia sped toward the guildhall, her chest swelled with hope.
The Heroes Guild was alive with motion and chatter. Adventurers adjusted their gear, exchanged plans, and spoke in animated tones, their excitement palpable after days of being trapped under Anubia’s sorcerous storm. The air practically buzzed with relief.
Sylvia weaved through the bustling crowd and made a beeline for Baptiste, who was directing a few workers as they adjusted the primary bulletin board. He turned at the sound of her approach, his expression welcoming.
“Ah, Sylvia. I had a feeling I’d see you bright and early,” he said, his polished demeanor intact despite the chaos.
Sylvia grinned. “You bet! Mint told me the good news. I’m here to put up a stake, but what happened? How did it just vanish?”
Baptiste’s practiced smile faltered, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the edge of the bulletin board. “That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? We’ve had no official statement, but I suspect Robin’s involvement.”
Sylvia’s eyes widened momentarily before narrowing in thought. “Robin? What makes you think that?”
“Well,” Baptiste began, lowering his voice slightly, “he visited Anubia last night. I don’t know what he said or did, but considering the pestilence is no longer an issue this morning, one can make an educated guess that we have him to thank.”
Sylvia tapped a finger against her chin, her lips quirking in a wry smile. “Guess that’s the kind of sway you have when you’re the judge of the potion competition. Even Anubia has to be on her best behavior around him.”
Baptiste chuckled lightly, his gaze drifting toward the bustling heroes. “It’s certainly within the realm of possibility. Robin is… uniquely persuasive. I’ll give him that. Celebrity has many benefits.”
Sylvia nodded, the gears in her mind already turning. “Well, whatever he did, I’m not complaining. Better late than never. Thanks for the heads-up—and for working to keep the Guild running through all of this. These heroes are lucky to have you looking out for them.”
“Always a pleasure, Sylvia,” Baptiste replied. His eyes darted away at the sound of a rising clamor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to oversee some of these hooligans before they start sparring over expedition rights.”
Sylvia laughed, stepping back into the crowd with a renewed sense of purpose. The clouds—both literal and metaphorical—had finally lifted, and she was ready to make the most of it.
Sylvia straightened her posture, flashing a confident smile as she finished her pitch. “This insight enhancer is not only powerful but also perfectly crafted—a potion as refined as the insights it provides. Robin, when you want clarity of mind, there’s simply no competition.”
She stepped back, hands on her hips, watching Finn’s reaction. He clapped his hands together with a loud, sharp sound, his grin wide and approving. “Well, Teach, if Robin doesn’t declare you the winner after all that, he needs his own insight enhancer. That was slick.”
Sylvia chuckled, brushing her gloves against her apron in an absent-minded gesture. “Thanks. It feels good to get the words out and nail it, you know? I’ve been rehearsing in my head all morning.”
Finn tipped back his chair, one foot propped on the edge of the table. “You’re definitely in a better place than when you and I faced off. No offense, but back then, you looked like you were about to keel over.”
Sylvia blinked, surprised. “Wait—what? I thought I held it together pretty well!”
Finn smirked, tapping his temple lightly. “You put on a brave face, but I wasn’t just watchin’, Teach. Electroreception, remember? Your heart was racing so hard it was like a drumline in my head. For a minute there, I thought you were gonna drop dead at the podium.”
Her mouth opened slightly in disbelief before she laughed, shaking her head. “Gee, thanks, Finn. That’s comforting.”
He looked away ruefully, tugging at his tie. “Okay, yeah, maybe not the funniest thing lookin’ back.”
Sylvia’s amusement lingered as she crossed her arms, her tone light but earnest. “Honestly, I think I was having a full-blown panic attack. But Luna helped me realize something important: stress isn’t my enemy. It’s a tool. Harness it, and it works for you instead of against you.”
Finn rubbed his jaw, a spark of interest lighting his eyes. “Not bad, Teach. Sounds like you’re gettin’ better at that. But hey, you’ve always been good at the whole ‘fake it till you make it’ thing.”
Sylvia’s face registered mock offense. “Do you want to clarify that?”
Finn shrugged, his grin widening. “You know—pretend you’ve got it all under control until you actually do. You’ve been doin’ that since day one, and it’s working out pretty damn good for you.”
Sylvia laughed softly, the words resonating with her. “I guess I’ve been faking it pretty well, haven’t I?”
“You always had the goods,” Finn said, tapping his chest. “Just needed the confidence to match.”
“Exactly,” Sylvia said, her resolve undeniable. “I refuse to be intimidated by Anubia. If anything, she’s just giving me more fuel to prove myself.”
Finn smirked, giving a brief nod. “She won’t know what hit her.”
A moment passed, and Finn’s gaze turned distant as he surveyed the shop. “So, what else do you need to do tonight? Potions are all set.”
Sylvia looked around at her workbench, her cauldrons bubbling gently, the slimes happily gurgling, and her three completed potions—silence cure, tolerance potion, and insight enhancer—lined up neatly. Everything was in order. It hit her that there was nothing left to do but sit tight until the competition in the morning.
Sylvia released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her shoulders relaxing as she surveyed her workbench. “No, I think that’s it. Everything’s ready. Just waiting.”
“Good,” Finn said, his tone light. “You should occupy yourself with somethin’ else. Take your mind off all the anticipation.”
Sylvia tapped at her chin, feigning thought. “Like what? Or are you just waiting for me to guess?”
“Nah, I won’t make ya guess. How about a card game?” Finn’s grin was casual, inviting.
Sylvia smirked, propping her arms on the counter. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were a card shark.”
“Not those kinda cards,” Finn said with a half-amused huff.
Sylvia raised her eyebrows, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Alright, then. Lead the way. I’m curious now.”
“So, you ready to learn how to lose gracefully?” Finn asked, scooping up a deck with a practiced hand.
Sylvia tapped her fingers against her arm as she stood behind the other mismatched chair at his cluttered table. Stacks of cards, a few unopened packs, and scattered sleeves made it clear that this Itsy Bitsy Kaiju game he’d described on the walk over was an Uppercase-H Hobby.
“Bold of you to assume beginner’s luck won’t carry me to victory,” she said, shrugging off her bag and hanging it over the chair back.
He laughed, low and easy, then gestured to the chair across from him. “Alright, sit down, killer. Let’s see if you can back up all that talk.”
She slid into the seat, and Finn handed her a deck. She briefly flipped through it—lots of straightforward cards, but their arrangement showed her he’d put thought into their interaction. It wasn’t overly generous, but he wasn’t setting her up to fail, either. Typical.
Sylvia pressed her thumbs to the edges of the deck, preparing to bridge the halves together, when Finn sucked in a breath through his teeth. His gaze locked on her hands with the intensity of someone watching a tightrope walker wobble over a canyon.
“What?” she asked, both confused and accusatory.
“Nothing,” Finn said quickly, then winced as she began to pull the edges of each stack off the table with her thumbs. “Okay, no. Not nothing. Just, uh… don’t bend the cards, Teach.”
Sylvia stopped mid-shuffle, looking between the cards and his slightly pained expression. “Are you serious? How else am I supposed to shuffle them?”
Finn let out a sigh that sounded more relieved than exasperated. “Here, watch.” He took the deck from her and demonstrated a smooth overhand shuffle, the cards slipping through his fingers like water. “See? No creases, no stress. Easy.”
She grinned, impressed by the display of dexterity. “Alright, alright, card shark. I’ll give it a shot.” She mimicked his movements, fumbling a few times but managing what seemed like a pretty thorough shuffle. “Better?”
“Loads,” he said, smirking. “See, you’re already learning.”
With the cards back in her hands, Sylvia leaned over the table, ready to focus. The first few rounds were slow, her plays cautious as she tried to grasp the mechanics of the game. Finn gave her occasional tips, his tone light but just serious enough to keep her engaged.
“Alright,” he said at one point, tilting his head toward her cards. “You wanna think a few moves ahead—like, what happens if I play a seafloor ambush next turn?”
Sylvia frowned at her cards, visibly puzzled. “Wait, ambush? I thought the point was to guard against the kaiju swarm!”
Finn grinned, sitting back in his chair. “Ah, Teach, you’re thinkin’ too small. Ambush changes the whole tide of the battle. That’s why you gotta stay on your toes.”
“Noted,” Sylvia said, huffing softly but smiling. She leaned lower to the table, brows furrowing as she considered her next move.
Finn chuckled. “Don’t think too hard. You’ll miss the fun.”
“Easy for you to say,” she shot back. “You’ve probably been playing this for years.”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging with mock humility. “But don’t let that scare ya. You’ve got potential. Kinda like those cards you’re holdin’. Just gotta make your move when the time is right.”
Sylvia glanced down at her hand, one card catching her eye. The artwork was intricate, a swirling shoal of color and light. She turned it slightly, watching the way the hues shifted before holding it up to him. “This one’s gorgeous.”
“That’s a rarer card. Holofoil. They save the real flashy designs for cards like that—makes ‘em stand out in a collection.”
She held the card up to the light. “I didn’t realize there was so much thought behind the art.”
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “That’s how I got hooked in the first place. The strategy’s fun, sure, but the cards? They’re a whole other level of craftsmanship.”
Sylvia played the card on the table carefully, a newfound respect for the game settling in. “Alright, now I feel bad for almost mangling the deck earlier.”
Finn laughed, his grin breaking wide. “Good. Means I’m rubbin’ off on ya.”
By the end of the game, Sylvia felt mentally exhausted but surprisingly satisfied. She sat back in her chair and threw her hands up. “Okay, okay, I surrender. This kind of game might not be my strong suit… yet,” she added, holding her index finger in the air at a thoughtful angle.
“Yet,” Finn echoed, his smirk roguish. “But you’re gettin’ there. A few more games, and who knows? You might even give me a run for my money.”
Sylvia grinned, her competitive streak flaring. “Next time, I’m taking you down.”
He chuckled, a lenient sound. “We’ll see. You’re at a disadvantage when I know every card in your deck, though.”
Sylvia helped pack up the cards, their laughter filling the room as they bantered back and forth. As Sylvia gathered her things to leave, Finn paused, leaning against the table with a pensive expression.
“Hey, Teach,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically sincere. “Good luck tomorrow.”
Sylvia moved a beat too slowly to mask her reaction to the sudden shift in his voice. She offered him a genuine smile. “Thanks. I’ll take all the luck I can get.”
He smirked, the playfulness slipping back into his expression. “Not that you’ll need it. Just don’t let that big brain of yours overheat, alright?”
Sylvia rolled her eyes, laughing as she headed for the door. She felt lighter somehow, her mind clearer than it had been all day. Finn had a way of taking the edge off. After she kicked off the sand and began the flight back to her shop, she caught herself smiling.
Maybe she hadn’t won the game tonight, but she was ready to win big tomorrow.
The door to the shop swung open with a burst of energy, and Sylvia practically bounded inside, the grin on her face wide and bright. Her whole body felt too small to hold the energy crackling under her skin.
“I did it, Uncle Oswald!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement. “I beat Anubia! You should’ve seen the look on her face—it was priceless!” Her hands shook as she unlatched her satchel and set it down on the counter, practically glowing with fulfillment. “Her tantrum when Robin declared me the winner? Top-tier entertainment. After everything she pulled, it was so satisfying. And then—poof—she was gone.”
Oswald ruffled his feathers and tilted his head, a feigned look of astonishment glinting in his round eyes. “Would you look at that? My niece, the potion prodigy.” He hopped closer, his feathers fluffing out. “Sylvia, you’ve come so far. I always knew you had it in you, but seeing it for myself? I couldn’t be more proud.”
Sylvia paused mid-spin, her grin softening into something more thoughtful as she took in his words. “Really? You’re not just saying that because you need me to win that Mavenbloom in the last round, are you?”
Oswald chuckled, his gaze adoring. “Not at all. You’ve turned every challenge into a stepping stone, kid. You’ve grown sharper, stronger—and somehow even more stubborn, which I didn’t think was possible.”
Sylvia laughed, the lightness of the moment settling over her. “Thanks, Uncle Oswald. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Oh, you definitely could have.”
The bolstering effect of his praise lingered, and Sylvia slowed down, her mind shifting gears. The thrill of her victory was still there, but now it mixed with a steady, determined resolve. A win was exhilarating, but there was still work to be done. She grabbed her apron and slipped it on, the familiar action grounding her.
Pulling out her notebook, she flipped to a fresh page. “Alright,” she said, her dry quill tapping against the counter. “Next round is in ten days. Time to figure out what I’ll need to stockpile.”
Oswald fluttered closer, watching as she jotted down notes. “Straight back to work, huh? No rest for the ambitious.”
Sylvia grinned, scribbling furiously. “Exactly. I want everything ready. If I’m going to win this thing, I can’t leave anything to chance. First question: What potions do you think Robin will throw at us next?”
Oswald tilted his head, considering. “Advanced cures, maybe. Rare tonics. Either way, you’ll need high-grade components.”
Sylvia nodded, jotting down ideas and murmuring to herself. “Muktuk said he should be getting materials for a new cauldron from Baptiste’s expedition today or tomorrow…”
Oswald chuckled softly. “You know, watching you plan like this, it’s hard not to be impressed. You’re incredibly changed from the toddler who insisted on drinking her juice out of a potion bottle.”
“Hey, that toddler worked her butt off to get here,” Sylvia retorted with mock indignation, though her grin gave her away. “But yeah… I have come a long way, haven’t I?”
“You have,” Oswald said warmly. “And I’ve been lucky to see so much of it this past month.”
Sylvia smiled at that, her realization settling into a quiet sense of accomplishment. She turned back to her notes, her focus sharpening. The scratching quill and bubbling cauldrons filled the shop with soft sounds that blurred the passage of time until the familiar jangle of the doorbell broke the rhythm.
Finn strolled in, his usual swagger tempered by a broad grin. “There she is—the queen of the cauldron!” he declared, spreading his arms wide. He stopped in his tracks, taking in the sight of Sylvia scribbling furiously at the counter.
“Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head in exaggerated dismay. “You’re already back to work? Didn’t you just hand Anubia a heaping helping of defeat on a silver platter?”
Sylvia glanced up, grinning at his theatrics. “What can I say? The cauldron queen never rests.”
Finn settled against the counter, watching Sylvia write illegibly in her notebook. “Y’know, Teach, I figured after a win like that, you’d be out celebratin’ with a whole crowd. Friends, family, the works.”
Sylvia glanced up, shaking her head lightly. “Nope, no family on the island. Just me and the owl.”
Oswald hopped along the countertop until he sidled up in front of Sylvia’s elbow, giving her a chirpy hoot before turning to fix Finn with a stern glare. Sylvia reached down and pulled Oswald’s little wizard hat over his eyes, shooing him away with a chuckle. “Don’t mind him. He’s being a grumpy old bird.”
Finn raised a brow, amused. “The owl, huh? Cute fella, but that doesn’t seem like nearly enough folks cheerin’ you on.”
Sylvia smiled faintly, setting her quill down. “Oh, they’re cheering, just from afar. My parents are happy for me, even if they miss having me around. I’ll have time to see them after the final round—win or lose.” She frowned at the thought, turning her attention back down to her notes about the upcoming week and tapping the nib of her quill against her lips.
Before she could register what was happening, Finn slid a hand across the counter and snagged the notebook, snapped it shut, and tucked it under his elbow.
“Teach, you gotta let yourself enjoy the victory at least a little before diving into the next round.” His grin sharpened. “You up for celebrating? Big win like this deserves somethin’ special.”
Sylvia set her quill down with a raised brow. “What kind of celebrating are we talking about?”
Finn tilted his head, giving her an assessing glance. “Anything you want. Your call, my treat. Unless you’ve already got plans?”
Sylvia shook her head, her excitement bubbling up again. “No plans. Honestly, it didn’t even occur to me. But you’re right—this deserves a celebration.”
Finn took a step back, his gaze lingering on her as if waiting for her next move. “Alright, Teach. What’ll it be?”
Sylvia glanced around the shop—the shelves she’d worked so hard to stock, the new medal gleaming on the wall next to three others. The significance of the day settled alongside the clarity of what she really wanted. She looked back at Finn, her eyes alight with decision.
“I think I know exactly what I want to do,” she said, her tone decisive. “Come on.”
Sylvia lifted the steaming bowl, the heat tickling her face as she inhaled the mingling aromas of garlic and soy. Her first slurp drew an audible sigh, the silky broth coating her tongue with umami richness. A grin crept across her face as the noodles slipped from her chopsticks, tangling delightfully before she caught them. The gentle clink of spoons and bowls around the room provided a comforting background hum.
Finn’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of his glass. “You live off instant noodles, and your idea of celebratin’ is more of the same?”
Sylvia shot him a mock glare, sipping the broth out of her spoon. “This is not the same! It’s real ramen. Big difference.” She closed her eyes in delight, savoring the unparalleled flavor.
“Yeah, yeah,” Finn muttered, already salting his bowl in excess. He wasn’t subtle at all, shaking the salt shaker like it owed him money.
Sylvia’s lips part slightly as though about to speak, but let it slide, focusing instead on her next bite.
A moment later, one regular from her shop—an older man who often bought potions for his wife—passed by their table. He spotted Sylvia and smiled.
“Hey there, Sylvia!” he called, offering a nod of approval. “Congratulations on your victory today. You really showed ‘em.”
Sylvia smiled back, lifting her glass slightly in greeting. “Thanks! Appreciate it.”
The man waved as he walked past, and Sylvia turned back to Finn, a faint smile still on her lips.
“Guess word gets around quickly,” she remarked, but her tone shifted to something quieter, almost reflective, as she considered the recognition.
Finn paused in stirring the healthy sprinkling of salt into his bowl, a grin spreading across his face. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You’re makin’ real waves now, Teach.”
Sylvia smiled, though her gaze drifted around the restaurant, lingering on the walls and the bustling patrons. The quiet murmur of conversation and the clinking of utensils filled the air, mixing with the faint hum of an old tune playing softly overhead. The last couple of months had been a whirlwind, but now, in this moment, she could actually take it all in. Her shop, her customers, her success. It seemed… real.
“I guess so,” she murmured, her voice a little softer now. “I never thought it’d be like this.”
“Why not?” Finn asked, unscrewing the cap of the salt shaker and slowly tipping it over his bowl. “Your business savvy is undeniable. Turnin’ your uncle’s money pit into a regular profit machine.”
Sylvia glanced up, her expression thoughtful as she stirred her ramen. Her fingers tapped the edge of her bowl lightly, almost absentmindedly, as she considered his words.
“I mean, yeah, profit is the goal,” she said, her gaze dropping to the golden yolk of the egg resting atop the noodles. “But I mean, there’s this… spark. When I make a potion and it’s exactly what someone needs, it feels like what I do matters. You know?”
Finn sat back in his chair, chin in hand. His usual cocky smirk had faded, replaced with a more contemplative expression, his eyes focused on her. He nodded slowly. “Can’t say I ever looked at it that way, Teach. For me, business is just… well, business. Gettin’ the cash flow going and keepin’ it steady, whatever the product.”
There was a brief silence. Finn shifted, his weight sagging slightly as he tugged at his untied bowtie. His gaze dropped momentarily before he met hers again.
“I got an eye for what sells, and for now, the pep talking sells. But if I’m bein’ honest, it’s just another means to an end.” He let out a short, dry laugh that didn’t carry its usual sharpness. “Watchin’ you, though… You’re here ‘cause you’ve got a genuine passion for what you do. I’m just kinda… here.”
Sylvia leaned in slightly, her posture more open now. She could feel the detachment in his voice, and she let the pause settle before speaking.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting success, Finn,” she said, her tone mollifying. “But maybe there’s something else out there you could really throw yourself into. Something that’s about a little more than just the money.”
Finn let out a dry chuckle, but it sounded strained. “Ya make it sound easy, Teach. Just find somethin’ to care about, huh?”
Sylvia took a slow breath. There was a quiet retreat behind his words. Still, she didn’t avert her gaze.
“No, I don’t think it’s easy,” she said, her voice firm but with a hint of underlying empathy. “But I think you’ll figure it out, anyway. You’re good at a lot of things. Eventually, one of them will feel right.”
Finn’s expression flickered, a brief shadow crossing his features, but it passed quickly. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and letting his shoulders slump a fraction. His eyes dropped away from hers, the energy shifting as he tried to lighten the mood. “Not sure that’s a guarantee, but thanks all the same, Teach. But look at me, bringin’ down your big day.” He chuckled at himself, the sound dry and self-deprecating. “Quick, change the subject.”
Sylvia hesitated for a moment, letting the silence linger. Then, with a slight smile, she offered, “Then I’ll turn your question around on you. Do you have any family to celebrate your successes with?”
Finn froze, his smile faltering for a moment. “Sharp turn,” he muttered, his voice dropping as he rubbed his thumb over his ring absentmindedly. “Nah. We don’t keep in touch. More of a ‘strike out into the world and don’t look back’ kind of deal.”
His gaze drifted away from hers as his posture stiffened. There was a hardness to his voice.
“Just one of those lone shark types, y’know?”
Sylvia registered the distance he was creating, but she didn’t rush to fill it, her gaze soft and unexpectant. She didn’t press him any further, allowing him space to breathe for a moment.
“Hard to play Itsy Bitsy Kaiju by yourself, though,” she said eventually, voice honeyed with just the right touch of cheek.
The tension broke, and Finn’s smile returned, but it was tight, more controlled now. His chuckle had a slight edge to it, as though he were trying to dismiss the gravity of the conversation. “Yeah, guess so. Lucky for me, you’re learnin’ the ropes.”
Sylvia smiled, a little relieved, but the moment lingered, unspoken between them—acknowledged, but untouched. Sylvia’s lips twitched into a playful smile as she stirred the contents of her bowl. Her gaze flicked up to Finn, and she deployed a calculated, teasing remark.
“Lucky you changed your mind after that whole ‘we’re not going to be friends after this’ spiel you gave me before our match.”
Finn let out a rueful laugh at his own expense as his eyes rolled away for a moment. “Yeah, I was real sure about that, wasn’t I? Guess it’s not so bad to be wrong once in a while.”
Sylvia beamed, leaning forward on the table as she raised her glass. “I’m glad you were wrong, too.”
Finn blinked, his customary self-assurance replaced by a subtle change in stance—a hint of stiffness in his shoulders, his eyes briefly dropping to the table, seeming to shake off a thought. When he finally met her eyes again, it was with an almost embarrassed smile.
“Yeah. Thanks, Teach.” He clinked his glass against hers. “Congrats again.”
Chapter Text
Sylvia wiped down the counter, her gloves smudged with a fine layer of dust. The morning air was cool, carrying the faint scents of custards and dried flowers from the potion ingredients stored in the back. She liked this quiet hour, the rhythm of minor tasks helping her process lingering thoughts.
Her mind kept circling back to the conversation with Finn. It wasn’t the playful back and forth that nagged at her—it was the way he’d crumbled a bit toward the end, that rare glimpse of vulnerability under his usual bravado. His mood had seemed somewhat improved by the time they’d parted ways, but still not quite his usual self. She worried over what she could have said differently, and what she should have left unsaid.
The bell above the shop door jingled, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked up, relieved at the distraction.
Robin strode into the shop with an effortless grace, his ever-present smile lighting up his face. He wore his signature hat and coat, tailored to perfection, and the famous lizard Mae rested on his shoulder like a coiled snake. Mae’s eyes were half-lidded, her yellow body relaxed, but something about her dopey face still unnerved Sylvia.
“Well, if it isn’t Rafta’s rising star,” Robin said, his voice genial and as smooth as his cravat. “Congratulations on your victory against Anubia. I had no doubts you would make it this far.”
Sylvia smiled, standing straighter. “That’s kind of you to say. I didn’t expect you’d be stopping by this morning.”
“I couldn’t resist,” he said, spreading his arms as if to take in the shop. “I thought I’d see how our brightest potion debutante is preparing for the final round.”
Sylvia’s hands stilled mid-wipe, the damp cloth momentarily forgotten as the back-handed compliment struck her. Mae tilted her head, her gaze locking onto Sylvia with unsettling clarity. It was the first time Sylvia had seen both of the lizard’s eyes directed at the same point at once.
Robin leaned on his cane, his eyes scanning the shop with idle interest. “I must say, it’s admirable how much effort you’ve put into all of this.” His tone remained perfectly cordial. “You’ve really tried your best, haven’t you?”
Sylvia’s smile faltered. “You almost make that sound like a bad thing,” she said, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
Mae shifted, her claws rasping over Robin’s pristine coat with an audible scrape. The sound prickled at Sylvia’s nerves, a pointed reminder of the lizard’s predatory presence. “Not at all,” he replied smoothly. “In fact, I find it laudable. Though…” He straightened, his smile nearly twinkling. “Trying won’t secure victory in the final round.”
Sylvia gave a short laugh, trying to mask her irritation. “That’s a pretty biased thing for the judge to say, don’t you think?”
Robin chuckled affably, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken, Sylvia. I’m not judging the final round.”
Sylvia blinked. “You’re not?”
Robin took a deliberate step back, gesturing to himself with a flourish of his cane. “Oh, no. In the final round, I am your opponent.”
The words genuinely surprised her for a moment, but she recovered swiftly. Of course, Robin would be the ultimate challenge—who else could it be? The realization had still shifted something inside her, like the ground had tilted beneath her feet. Robin wasn’t just a celebrity; he was the celebrity. Beloved by everyone on Rafta, practically untouchable.
“That’s… unexpected,” she managed, trying to keep her tone mild.
Robin’s brows drew together in a conciliatory expression. “Don’t look so surprised, Sylvia. You’ve been quite impressive up to this point, but every story needs its climax. And I intend to give the people a finale they won’t soon forget.”
As he spoke, the room seemed to dim slightly, the candlelight fading as if the shop itself held its breath. Mae’s eyes snapped open as her mouth parted in a high, menacing hiss. The sound curled through the air, sharp and ravening, making the hair on Sylvia’s arms stand on end.
Robin reached up to stroke Mae’s head, his movements fluid and unhurried. The lizard’s hissing ceased, her body relaxing again, though her now lidded gaze never left Sylvia. “Ah, don’t mind Mae,” Robin said lightly. “She simply has a knack for sensing competition. It’s nothing personal.”
“What a cute little quirk,” Sylvia said with a fragile, strained smile.
Robin turned, taking a slow, graceful step toward the door. He walked like he owned the space, every gesture considered, every move choreographed to exude charm. Mae, however, clung to his shoulder like a shadow, her unblinking gaze lingering on Sylvia even as they reached the exit.
“Best of luck, Sylvia,” Robin said, pausing at the threshold as if preparing a parting remark. Then he left without a backward glance. The door closed softly behind him.
Sylvia stood frozen behind the counter, staring at the door for a while. The dimness in the shop seemed unnatural, a residue of his presence lingering like a gloom in the corners of her mind. She clenched her hands into fists, steadying her breath as her pulse settled.
Robin wasn’t just her opponent—he was a living legend. And he had no intention of letting her forget it.
“Not that I don’t enjoy a bit of melodrama,” came Oswald’s familiar, dry tone, “but that fellow could give Maven a run for her money in the ‘ominous grandstanding’ department.”
Sylvia looked up to see her uncle perched on a beam near the ceiling, his golden eyes gleaming with concern. With a few quick beats of his wings, he descended, landing neatly on the counter.
“Glad you heard all that,” she said, her voice tighter than she intended.
Oswald tilted his head, his beak parting in a sharp click. “Hard not to. He doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body.” Oswald’s feathers ruffled, and he gave a low hoot of disbelief. “The golden boy is the last obstacle. Talk about stacking the deck.”
Sylvia snorted, but the sound lacked humor. “Tell me about it. He practically had the building bent to his will just now, and he wasn’t even trying that hard.”
Oswald paced across the counter, his talons clicking against the wood. “Don’t give him too much credit, kid. All that flash and dazzle? It’s just a distraction. Sure, he’s popular, but being loved doesn’t make someone unbeatable.”
Sylvia scowled. “He’s not just popular. He’s good at this. And not only potions—at the game. He knows how to manipulate people, turn the narrative his way. I’m starting to get the feeling he’s been doing it his whole life.”
Oswald stopped pacing, looking at her gravely. “Then don’t let him do it to you.”
She waited for him to continue, and he hopped closer, meeting her gaze. “Listen, Sylvia. He’s a showman. You’re a fighter. You’ve taken on everyone else who stood in your way, and you’ve done it by being smarter, faster, and just plain better. That doesn’t change now just because he’s got a pretty face and a flashy history.”
She frowned. “It’s not just him. It’s what he means. He’s the guy everyone on Rafta looks up to. I looked up to him, too. And now, I’m supposed to… what? Knock him off his pedestal?”
Oswald’s expression softened, his voice quieter but no less firm. “You’re not knocking him off anything. He’s not the hero of this story, Sylvia. You are.”
For a moment, Sylvia said nothing, staring down at her gloved hands on the counter. The knot of tension in her chest loosened just a little.
“Thanks, Uncle Oswald,” she said finally.
He gave a pleased hoot and flapped his wings. “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my spot before you open for the day. Eavesdropping from up there is much more dramatic.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose as he fluttered back up to the rafters.
Turning back to her workbench, Sylvia allowed herself a deep breath. Robin might be her last opponent, but she wasn’t about to let him define this. Her shop, her craft, her fight—all hers.
The sun dipped low over the horizon, streaking the bay with fiery golds and soft violets. Waves murmured against the shore, their rhythm steady and soothing. Rising from the water like a forgotten monument, the jagged remains of the kraken skull jutted into the sky. Long shadows from the bones rippled across the bay, a haunting reminder of the heroes who had once passed through Rafta on their way to defeat the Witch-Queen Maven.
Sylvia trudged through the sand, her boots scuffing against uneven dunes. Exhaustion pulled at her with every step, her mind cycling through endless haggles and the crushing weight of her final opponent. But as she neared the shoreline, the sound of the sea and the familiar figure ahead eased the tension in her shoulders.
Finn sat on his usual driftwood log, elbows resting on his knees, his sharp profile outlined against the water. The fading sunlight caught the glint of his earrings, adding a touch of warmth to his rough edges.
“Hey,” Sylvia called, her voice heavy with weariness but lightened by a smile.
He turned at once, a grin breaking across his face. “Teach!” he greeted, brushing sand from his hands as he stood. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. What’s up?”
She sighed and flopped onto her back in the sand without answering, throwing an arm dramatically over her eyes. “Selling, selling, selling. If one more customer tries to haggle me down, I might—” She waved a hand toward the kraken skull. “Feed them to that.”
Finn’s chuckle was low. “Tough crowd, huh? Should’ve let me take a crack at ‘em. I’m great at makin’ the stubborn folks see reason.”
Sylvia peeked at him from beneath her arm, smirking faintly. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. But I wouldn’t want to drag you into my mess. You’ve got your own work to handle.”
He snorted, sitting back down on the log but keeping his gaze on her. “You’re not draggin’ me anywhere. I like makin’ your life easier—it’s kind of my specialty.”
The breeze carried his words away, but they left something behind; a flutter of acute pressure beneath her ribs. She fought the urge to fidget under his steady gaze. “I’ll remember that the next time someone harangues me about whether my radiation tonic has ‘the right sound.’” She pulled at her hair with exaggerated dismay. “What does a good potion even sound like?”
Finn smirked, leaning forward. “Depends. Maybe like the till ringin’.”
Sylvia chuckled despite herself, but her smile faded as her gaze drifted toward the horizon. She raked her gloved fingers absently through the sand. “I’m facing Robin in the last round,” she said.
Finn’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing. “Robin? As in, the Robin?”
“Exactly!” she cried, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. “The Robin—that’s the entire problem. He’s got everything: charm, popularity, resources. How am I supposed to compete with that?”
Finn adjusted his posture, his thumb tracing slow circles over the worn band of his ring. The gesture, absent but deliberate, seemed to mirror gears turning. When he spoke, his voice was steady, free of its usual teasing edge. “The way you always do. You’ve taken down everyone else so far, right? Robin’s no different. He’s just another guy underestimatin’ you.”
Sylvia stilled, removing her hands from her eyes as the weight of his words hung between them. The confidence in his tone struck a chord that left her momentarily speechless.
“It’s not that simple,” she said finally, looking out at the water. “Robin’s… He’s an institution.”
“Teach,” Finn said gently, his voice soft but firm, “you’re sharper than him. You work harder than anyone I know. You’ve got the guts to take on anything. Robin shouldn’t scare you.”
Finn’s words were a lifeline unexpectedly landing in front of her, pulling her from the undertow of her own doubts. Her pulse quickened, and she pressed her gloved hands against the sand as if anchoring herself.
“I was feeling better about it this morning! But after today? I’m totally drained. I couldn’t wait to close up shop and get out of there.” She mumbled inaudibly about how Robin probably didn’t have to worry about such miserly customers.
Finn shifted back, the light humor returning to his tone. “Can’t imagine why you’re feeling so worn out. Anyway, what do you do when you’re not running the shop or stewin’ over the competition? Got any hobbies?”
Sylvia let out a breathy laugh, looking at him sidelong. “Subtle. I spend most of my time connecting with vendors and heroes. Does that count?”
“Networking?” Finn’s smirk widened. “Teach, that’s just work that cleans up nice.”
She groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. “I’m trying, here! What do you want me to say—that I knit in my free time?”
“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” he ribbed. “But nah, I was hopin’ you’d say something fun I could talk you into lettin’ me join.”
“Like what? Badminton?”
“Maybe,” he said blithely. “But mostly, I mean anything that gives you a break. You don’t take enough of those.”
Her smile faltered at the shift in his tone. “I don’t really have the luxury,” she said.
“You’ve gotta make time, Teach. Otherwise, the world’ll carve it out of you. Folks are rootin’ for you—don’t burn out on ‘em.”
Sylvia swallowed against the lump in her throat, a shadow of a smile forming. “I’ll try,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“You better,” Finn said, his smirk returning. “And if you don’t, I’ll do it for you. Can’t promise it’ll be convenient.”
Sylvia laughed, the sound lighter now. “I’d like to see you try.”
He chuckled. “Maybe we work out a plan tomorrow, yeah? Something to keep you on top of the game without overdoin’ it.”
She considered it, the idea of having help more comforting than she wanted to admit. “Maybe,” she said. “But tomorrow. Tonight, I’m just going to enjoy the fact that I’m not standing behind a counter.”
She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the waves wash over her. The pressure on her chest eased; a welcome change in the day’s tone. Whatever tomorrow brought, she’d face it. But for now, she let herself rest, the calm of the beach and Finn’s steady presence grounding her.
Sylvia traced the rim of her new cauldron, marveling at its opalescent glow. The morning sunlight danced across its surface, shifting from deep blues to rosy pinks, as though it held a universe of potential within. Muktuk had outdone himself. Every inch of the cauldron shone with power, precision, and elegance, and it practically thrummed with magical energy.
She stepped back to admire it fully, grinning with delight. “Robin better be ready,” she said aloud, her voice ringing with conviction.
The sharp rap of a knock on the door startled her. A letter rested on the floor in front of the mail slot, its thick parchment and curling script immediately catching her eye. She crouched to pick it up, the bold heading—Potionomics Market Exchange—drawing her in.
Sylvia tore the envelope open, the wax seal cracking apart. The paper was thick and looked expensive. She scanned the contents, her heart quickening with each grandiose line. Dear Esteemed Alchemist… An exclusive opportunity to join an elite network of potion makers… Access to rare ingredients… Prompt response requested…
Her eyes flicked toward the cauldron again, her excitement mounting. Could this be the edge she needed to level the playing field? Before she could delve deeper, Oswald’s familiar, dry voice piped up from his perch. “What’s got you so giddy now, kid?”
“Look at this!” Sylvia spun around, holding the letter aloft. “The Potionomics Market Exchange. They want me to join their exclusive trading network. This could be huge!”
Oswald fluttered down to her workbench, peering at the parchment with a mix of curiosity and pride. “Well, well,” he said, his tone softening. “Looks like you’ve caught the eye of the big leagues. I’m certainly not surprised.”
Sylvia beamed, practically bouncing on her heels. “This could be the break I need. If can get access to these ingredients, I could craft something incredible. Something that could go toe-to-toe with anything Robin’s got.”
Oswald looked up from the letter, tilting his head in mild disapproval. “One would think an honor of this magnitude might warrant, at the very least, a courier with a fancy hat. A bit of pomp and circumstance certainly wouldn’t go amiss.”
Sylvia held the parchment up in both hands, her grin unwavering. “Esteemed alchemist,” she read aloud, savoring the title. “I kind of like the sound of that.”
Oswald let out a chuckle, his feathers fluffing up as he settled back onto his perch. “Then you’d better get to work on your responses, ‘esteemed alchemist.’ Don’t leave your adoring fans waiting.”
Sylvia smirked, rolling her eyes but already mentally drafting what she might say. “Lucky I’ve got a way with words.”
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” Oswald replied, his tone stern with encouragement. “Show them why they’re right to be seeking your application.”
A thrill of validation coursed through Sylvia as she picked up the letter again, her gaze lingering on the included application form. There were detailed instructions about the next steps—questions about her business, her methods, her inventory, her best recipes—all of it designed to highlight her unique qualifications. She grabbed her notebook and quill, flipping to a fresh page with purpose.
As she began composing her answers, she could almost feel the potential of the cauldron at her back, radiating its otherworldly energy. Her handwriting scrawled faster as her excitement grew. This was her shot, and she was determined to make the most of it.
Sylvia leaned over the counter, her fingers twitching above the crumpled balls of paper scattered before her. The answers she’d written to the application were far from satisfying, each one worse than the last. She grimaced as she glanced at the crinkled mess, her frustration mounting. Nothing felt right. Her notebook lay open before her, its pages filled with half-formed thoughts and unhelpful doodles.
She hadn’t heard Finn’s footsteps until the doorbell rang out, the scent of coffee filling the air. Instead of his usual greeting, he cautiously asked, “You busy?” Then, with a smile, added, “Not scheming without me, are you?”
Sylvia startled, brushing her hand through her hair and straightening up as she glanced over. Her gaze lingered on the messy counter for a beat. “No, just… trying to answer a few questions,” she said, her voice slightly tight. “I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking this. But—” She gestured to the crumpled papers, exhaling sharply. “Everything I write feels… off.”
Finn walked closer, pausing before placing the coffee on the counter. He didn’t comment on the disarray, his attention drawn instead to the letter with the elegant handwriting and embossed envelope lying beside her notebook. “What’s this?”
Sylvia nodded, the excitement breaking through her frustration. “It just came this morning. It’s from the Potionomics Market Exchange. They invited me to apply for some kind of partnership program. I’m supposed to respond by the end of the day. They said I’d be a good fit for their network.”
His brow furrowed slightly, but his tone remained neutral. “That’s something.”
“Right? I mean, who knows? This could help push me up to Robin’s level. Or maybe even give me an edge.” Sylvia’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm. “This could be huge.”
Finn eyed her with a slight change in his posture, something guarded and thoughtful creeping into his demeanor. “Not that I don’t think you deserve it. But, uh…” He reached over and flipped the letter around, scanning the text more intently now.
Sylvia leaned in too, but she couldn’t help the flicker of impatience that darted through her. “But what?”
Finn didn’t look up from the letter, but the faint edge in his voice was hard to miss. “There’s a couple things that don’t add up here.”
Sylvia sat back in her chair, her eyes narrowing. “Like what? Am I not doing well enough? Making it through four rounds undefeated? Taking down Anubia while resuscitating this shop? I think that warrants some recognition.”
"No denyin' that, Teach." Finn took a deep breath, his voice lowering, choosing his words carefully. "All looks smooth on the surface, sure, but that's how they getcha. It's like..." He made a vague, swirling motion with his hand, as though dredging clarity from murky water. "The way they phrase stuff? It’s almost too polished.”
Sylvia’s jaw tightened. “So you think I’m too naïve to know the difference between an opportunity and a scam?”
“No,” Finn said, his eyes finally lifting from the letter. There was something almost apologetic in his gaze now. “Someone’s preyin’ on the part of you that wants this to be real. You’re good at what you do. They know that. They’re counting on you being too excited to spot the cracks.”
The statement unraveled something inside her, deeper than she’d thought it would. Her fingers tightened convulsively on top of the counter as the heat in her chest burned, lit by a rush of embarrassment. “I’m not… I’m not stupid, Finn,” she said, a tremor running through her voice. “I earned this, okay? I’ve been working—” She stopped herself, a little too forcefully, and looked away, her gaze flickering to the messy counter as if it could shield her from the revelation.
There was an uneasy silence between them. Sylvia sat motionless, wanting to say more, but the sting of pride irritated her throat.
Without saying a word, Finn nudged her coffee closer, the cardboard cup sliding a few careful inches across the counter toward her clenched fists. The quiet scrape of it felt louder than anything else in the room.
“It’s not about bein’ stupid," he eventually said. "You’re smart, Sylvia. It’s about casting a wide net and hoping a couple of perfect fish don’t swim out of it. This is a bread-and-butter grift. Too good to be true, not addressed to you by name, asking for proprietary information, makin' it seem real urgent…”
Her heart pounded again, accompanied now by a sinking feeling settling in her stomach. “So, you’re saying it’s a scam,” she repeated, though the words tasted sour.
Finn said nothing, but words weren't necessary. The awful, pained, and pitying frown on his face was all the confirmation Sylvia needed.
A pang of mortification spread through her, hot and sharp, making her want to push away from the counter. She tried to swallow it down but found that she couldn’t.
She laughed, the sound brittle. “Maybe I was just fooling myself.” Her breath hitched, and she massaged the back of her neck, the skin feverish against her wrist. The shame of it wasn’t gone, but was morphing into regret. She folded her arms on the counter and dropped her head onto them. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Nuh-uh, none of that.” Finn leaned into the benevolent rebuke. “This scam? It’s good—real good. They know what buttons to press, Teach, and they’re pressin’ ‘em hard. Anyone’d want to believe it.”
For a stretch, Sylvia simply slumped there, the adrenaline draining out of her, though the weight of it still lingered in her limbs. She lifted her head and glanced at the letter again, then back at Finn.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice almost inaudible, a little lost.
“Anytime,” he said, picking up one coffee and placing it on the counter in front of her. “Now, how ‘bout we ditch this trash and talk about somethin’ more productive? Like how to make Robin regret stepping foot in here.”
Sylvia managed a small, grateful smile. She picked up the letter, hesitating momentarily before balling it up and tossing it into the waste bin. “Okay. Let’s do that.”
Finn gave her an approving nod, his teasing grin sliding into place. “Attagirl. Right back to business.”
The shop had settled into an unusual calm after the tumult of the early hours. Late morning sunlight filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the counters. Sylvia shifted on the stool, flipping a page in her notebook. Sketches of potion bottles and scribbled calculations crowded the margins, but the main column held neatly underlined steps. A sharp crease marked the edge where she’d gripped it earlier, frustration evidenced by the discarded papers crumpled at her feet. Now, her pencil tapped rhythmically against the page as she looked up at Finn, the tension in her shoulders easing.
“Okay,” she said, her tone clear and deliberate, like she was anchoring herself with each word. “First, I’ve got a cushion from yesterday’s sales. Even if Robin makes things difficult, I can hold steady for a bit.”
Finn leaned casually against the counter, coffee in hand, his gaze attentive. “Good start. Can’t let him throw you off balance.”
Sylvia’s lips curled into a faint grin. “Exactly. Next, I’ll stock up on everything I’ll need for the radiation tonic, curse cure, and sight enhancer. Plenty of extra for tweaking recipes or working with whatever the Guild brings back from the Wasteland. Oh, and I’ll hold on to one of each potion until I’ve got a fresh batch ready. That way, no matter what tricks Robin pulls, I’ll always have something in reserve.”
Finn’s cup hovered mid-air as he tilted his head, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Smart thinkin’.” The low, measured drawl made Sylvia glance down at her notes. Her back straightened almost instinctively, her grip on the pencil tightening as if to reinforce her resolve.
“I’ve got a meeting with Luna scheduled,” Sylvia went on, tapping her pencil against her chin. “If anyone can help me market my way out of Robin’s shadow, it’s her. People might love Robin, but that doesn’t mean I can’t remind them why they love me, too.”
“That’s the spirit,” Finn said, a mild rally.
Sylvia glanced up, catching the faintest hint of a smile on his face. Something about the quiet way he regarded her made her shift, unconsciously straightening her posture again.
“And…” She dragged out the word, her tone lightly mocking as she closed her notebook. “I’ll take breaks. Regular ones. Apparently, they’re essential for peak performance or something.”
Finn shifted his weight to one side, arms folded across his chest. His brow quirked, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a mix of amusement and disbelief. “I won’t hold my breath,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing lilt that only deepened when Sylvia rolled her eyes at him.
She stretched her arms above her head and leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh. “Still, I think this plan’s solid. I might just be ready for whatever Robin throws at me.”
She allowed herself to savor the thought for a beat. Preparedness wasn’t something she’d always excelled at, but for once, she was ahead of the game. That sense of control—of agency—was a rare and welcome feeling.
Finn broke the silence with a lighter tone. “You want me to handle the Guild stuff for you? I’m already down there every day.”
Sylvia shook her head, an almost imperceptible curve forming over her lips. “Thanks, but no. I’d officially have no hobbies if I stopped running errands. Networking with the business crowd is the closest thing I have to fun, remember?”
Finn placed a hand over his chest in faux offense. “Ouch. Guess I’ve gotta step up my game.”
She laughed. “Maybe you do.”
His smirk widened, but his attention drifted to the trash bin at her feet. He reached down and plucked the scam letter from the pile, smoothing the crumpled parchment along the counter’s edge. He studied it with a shake of his head.
“This,” he said, holding it up, “is a solid piece of work. Whoever wrote it knows their audience. Could make for a good cautionary tale.”
Sylvia leaned forward, chin in hand. “That sounds suspiciously civic-minded for Rafta’s resident bad boy. You sure you’re not tarnishing your brand?”
Finn snorted. “Maybe I’ve been thinkin’ it’s time to diversify.” He paused, glancing at the letter again. “Truth is, if folks get taken for a ride like this, it’s bad for everyone. And maybe I’m in a spot to do somethin’ about it.”
Sylvia tilted her head, considering for a moment. “It’s not a bad thing, you know. Wanting to help. You don’t have to dress it up.”
For a moment, he said nothing, his thumb tracing the edge of the parchment as if weighing her words. “Guess not,” he said finally. “Just feels… better, I guess, puttin’ old instincts to good use.”
Sylvia’s lips parted, then closed as she studied him. A faint, almost reluctant smile broke through her usual teasing sharpness. “Well,” she said, her voice lighter now, “I think that makes you a pretty decent guy. I’m not putting it on a billboard or anything, but still.”
“Decent, huh?” Finn’s grin returned, gentler this time. “You’re setting the bar pretty high, Teach. If you start spreadin’ that around, I’ll have to live up to it.”
Sylvia laughed, the sound easing the last of the tension in the room. “Then you’d better start practicing.”
Finn gave her a mock salute before slipping the letter into his pocket. As he moved toward the door, there was a weight to his steps, tempered but purposeful. Sylvia watched him go, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than she realized.
The soft click of the door echoed through the shop, leaving behind a stillness that felt… full, rather than empty. Sylvia’s attention drifted to the notes sprawled across the counter, a few edges curling as if deflated by her earlier frustration. She exhaled, the tension in her chest unraveling with the breath. The thought of Robin’s potential plots still loomed, but now, they felt less like an insurmountable storm and more like a passing gust she could weather.
Chapter Text
Sylvia carefully measured out dragon pheromones with a pipette, the viscous liquid shimmering in the dim light of her workshop. Each drop clung to the glass before releasing, hissing faintly as it met the swirling brew in the cauldron below. She adjusted the heat with a flick of her wrist, the simmering liquid shifting from dull green to a faintly iridescent gold. Almost there.
She reached for the last ingredient—powdered yeti antler—when the familiar jingle of the shop bell broke her concentration.
“Got a sec, Teach?” Finn’s unmistakable drawl cut through the bubbling sounds of the cauldron.
Sylvia sighed, her gloved hand hovering mid-motion. “Depends,” she said, not yet looking up. “Are you just here to distract me, or is this actually important?”
“I can’t help it if I’m havin’ that effect on ya,” Finn replied, smirking as he stepped inside, a rolled-up poster tucked under one arm. His easy swagger carried him toward the counter, though his tone shifted as he added, “But I actually got something kinda exciting here.”
The earnestness in his voice drew her attention. She straightened, dusting her gloves off on her apron and letting out a facetious sigh. “Alright, hit me. What’s so exciting that it couldn’t wait until I finished coaxing this curse cure into existence?”
Finn grinned, a hint of pride flickering in his sharp features, and with a dramatic flourish, unfurled the poster.
The design immediately drew Sylvia’s eye: a magical fishing hook glowing with enchantments dangled precariously above a treasure chest that radiated both allure and danger. The vibrant colors practically leapt off the parchment, but it was the bold, blocky letters at the bottom that sealed the deal: “Don’t Get Reeled In! A Seminar on Spotting Scams.”
Sylvia blinked, momentarily taken aback. “You’re putting on a seminar?”
“Yup. Baptiste’s lettin’ me use the guildhall for it. Luna’s the mastermind behind the look—she whipped this beauty up—but the tagline?” He tapped the corner with his clawed fingertip, where the words ‘Keep your coin where it belongs—in your pocket’ were scrawled in sharp lettering. “That one’s all me.”
Sylvia leaned closer, studying the design with a critical eye. “Okay, yeah. This is exciting stuff.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Finn said, though her words clearly pleased him.
“It’s just… a little hard to believe you’re doing something so productive.” Her teasing tone softened as she glanced back at the poster. “But seriously, this could be really helpful for people.”
“That’s the plan,” Finn replied, his smirk giving way to a more subdued expression. He carefully rolled the poster back up, his movements thoughtful. “Only problem is tryin’ to cram it all into one seminar. Could probably talk about scams for a week straight, but nobody’s got time for that.”
“Yeah, there’s no way you’re going to cover everything,” Sylvia said, crossing her arms. “Just focus on the basics. Like, the really common ones that people like me have to watch out for.”
He tilted his head, considering her words, before letting out a quick chuckle. “You make it sound like it’s gonna be a piece of cake.”
“That’s because I’ve got faith in you,” Sylvia said, her voice steady, though a teasing edge crept in as she added, “And because if you mess it up, I’ll be there to heckle you from the back row.”
Finn laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Not even gonna heckle me from the front row? Coward.”
“Front row’s too obvious. I’m subtle like that,” she said with mock seriousness, her lips quirking into a smirk of her own.
Shaking his head, Finn backed toward the door, his grin as unrelenting as ever. “Alright, Teach. Don’t work too hard.”
Despite a roll of her eyes, Sylvia couldn’t help but smile as the bell jingled again, marking his exit. She stood there for a moment, the faint echo of his laugh lingering in the air.
Turning back to the cauldron, she glanced down at the simmering brew, the golden shimmer catching her eye. Somehow, it seemed a little brighter than it had before. She picked up the powdered antler, her hands steady, and added it to the mixture. The potion flared with light, a small spark of accomplishment blooming alongside it.
Bustling with activity, the Heroes Guild welcomed Sylvia as she passed through its grand, arched doors. The interior hummed with life: the rhythmic clang of weapons being tested in the training hall, the muffled voices of strategists debating tactical details, and the occasional burst of laughter from a group of heroes swapping war stories. Leather, steel, and parchment subtly perfumed the air, a curious mix of heroism and bureaucracy.
Her eyes immediately drifted to the large boards near the entrance, where a vibrant poster stood out: “Don’t Get Reeled In!” She admired Luna’s handiwork.
Nearby, two heroes were deep in conversation. One—a tall, wiry woman in battered leathers—was recounting the time she’d paid an exorbitant fee to have her armor enchanted.
“Turns out, the only magic in that shop was how quickly they made my gold disappear!” the warrior finished, shaking her head with a rueful grin. Her companion laughed so hard his helmet nearly slid off his head.
Sylvia smiled faintly, a quiet sense of pride settling over her. If people were talking about the seminar, it was already working.
Making her way deeper into the hall, she spotted Baptiste behind the main desk. He was bent over a clipboard, his immaculately styled hair catching the light as he reviewed a stack of papers. He straightened when he saw her, his smile polished but no less sincere.
“Sylvia! A pleasure, as always. How can the Heroes Guild be of service to our most reliable alchemist?”
“Just running a few errands,” she replied, adjusting her satchel on her shoulder. “But I also wanted to thank you for letting Finn use the hall for his seminar. This is a big deal for him.”
Baptiste waved a hand, brushing off the compliment, though his expression softened. “It’s nothing. Community service, really. I believe this will be an excellent resource for everyone—and if it also helps him find his footing, so much the better. He largely has you to thank for that, I understand.”
Sylvia’s smile widened, though she kept her tone light. “You’re giving me too much credit. He’s the one putting in the work.”
“Still,” Baptiste said, leaning against the counter now, “it speaks volumes about your character that you’re championing him. On the topic of your character…” He paused, his tone shifting slightly, as though weighing his words. “Sylvia, if I may—there’s something I’ve been grappling with.”
Curious, she tilted her head. “Of course. What is it?”
Baptiste exhaled softly, his usual confidence giving way to a rare moment of candor. “Lately, I’ve been struggling to balance the wellbeing of our heroes against the demands of our stakeholders. There’s pressure to prioritize contracts that bring prestige or profit, but they often come at a cost to the adventurers themselves.”
Sylvia frowned thoughtfully. “You mean the jobs you’re sending them on? Like, the high-risk, high-reward ones?”
“Exactly.” Baptiste gestured toward one of the seminar posters pinned nearby. “This seminar—it’s the type of initiative I want to see more of. Something proactive that empowers our heroes. But efforts like these don’t always get the backing they deserve from those higher up.”
Sylvia leaned on the desktop, crossing her arms. “Let me guess: your parents want shiny numbers, not happy heroes.”
“Precisely,” he said with a small nod. “But if I push too hard against their priorities, it risks alienating them. It’s a delicate balance, and I suppose I’m asking for advice. You have a knack for seeing value beyond the immediate bottom line. What would you do in my position?”
Sylvia paused, contemplating his words. The steady hum of activity around them faded into the background as she focused. “Honestly? I think you’re already on the right track. Supporting the heroes isn’t just good for them—it’s good for the Guild. If you can show your stakeholders how these initiatives save money in the long run—less turnover, fewer injuries, better morale—you might win them over. Pitch it like an investment, not just goodwill.”
Baptiste’s posture eased, his smile growing. “That’s… an excellent perspective. Thank you, Sylvia.”
“I’m glad I could help,” she replied with a nod, feeling a flicker of satisfaction.
As she turned toward the job board, her eyes caught on another of the seminar posters. Its bold hook gleamed in the afternoon light, the words compelling the reader to stop and scrutinize. For a moment, she lingered, her thoughts drifting.
The seminar wasn’t just about scams, she realized. It was about trust. Helping people protect themselves, giving them tools to stand a little taller in a world that could easily knock them down.
A quiet resolve settled over her as she adjusted her bag. It wasn’t her event, but she’d support it—and Finn—without hesitation.
Sylvia tightened her gloves as she stepped into the plaza, the scent of fresh-baked bread and spiced cider mingling with the chatter of merchants and customers. The market was alive with energy, colorful banners celebrating the potion competition draped between stalls.
She scanned the crowd for familiar faces, her focus sharpening when her gaze landed on Robin near the fountain. He stood effortlessly poised, as though the plaza had been built just for him, his golden hair catching the sun. Beside him, Mae lounged on his shoulder, her scales glinting, eyes blinking out of sync.
Sylvia hesitated, instinctively tightening her grip on her satchel. She could slip away unnoticed, but the moment the thought crossed her mind, Robin’s voice rang out.
“Sylvia!” he called, his tone warm enough to melt butter. Heads turned. “Just the person I was hoping to see!”
Great. Sylvia approached, her practiced smile in place. She reminded herself to breathe, to keep her expression affable and open. People were watching.
“Robin,” she greeted, pitching her voice to match his energy. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you out and about.”
“Not just out,” he replied smoothly. “I make it a point to connect with the people.” He gestured to a small group of townsfolk gathered nearby, who responded with eager nods. “And might I say, you’ve been making waves lately. Truly inspiring work.”
The compliment was so polished it almost gleamed. Sylvia blinked, momentarily thrown by how genuine it sounded. “Thanks,” she managed, tilting her head. “Though I imagine you’d say the same to anyone who made it to the final round.”
Robin laughed, a rich, rolling sound that earned a ripple of chuckles from the crowd. “Ah, you wound me! But, of course, I respect talent when I see it. You’ve certainly earned your place in the spotlight.”
Sylvia’s smile stayed firmly in place, though her stomach tightened. His charm was disarming, but Mae’s flicking tail told a different story.
“I guess I should thank you for the compliment, then,” Sylvia replied, keeping her tone light. “Coming from you, it means a lot.”
The nearby onlookers exchanged glances, murmuring softly. Sylvia caught snippets of admiration for Robin’s generosity and whispers speculating on the rivalry between the two finalists. One voice, louder than the others, made her pause.
“Robin’s so polished, isn’t he? Like, effortlessly professional,” a young man said to his companion, who responded, “Sylvia… well, she’s fiery. Guess that’s part of her charm, though.”
The words landed like a dart in her breast. Her smile faltered for the briefest moment before she caught herself, her posture straightening as she forced her focus back on Robin.
Robin stepped forward, the movement natural but calculated. His voice dropped to a level that escaped the crowd’s notice. “It’s always a pleasure seeing what pet project you’ll take on next. You do keep things interesting.”
Sylvia’s pulse quickened, a faint chill running down her spine. Mae shifted on Robin’s shoulder, her pink eyes locking onto Sylvia.
Sylvia let out a strategic laugh, stepping back just far enough to reset the dynamic. “Interesting is what keeps the customers coming back, isn’t it?” she countered, her tone carrying just the right amount of wile.
Robin inclined his head, his smile untouched by her deflection. “Indeed. Best of luck, Sylvia. I look forward to seeing more of you in the days ahead.”
He moved away, the crowd parting for him as if on orders. Sylvia exhaled, letting the hum of the market settle back over her like a comforting blanket. She glanced down at her gloves, adjusting them absently as her thoughts churned.
Robin’s serenity was maddening, his ability to command the room both admirable and infuriating. But the comment from the bystander gnawed at her more. Effortlessly professional. Wasn’t she professional enough? She pushed the thought aside, tightening her grip on her satchel as she glanced at Mae, who had turned back toward her.
The lizard’s narrow eyes lingered for a moment longer before Robin adjusted his jacket, drawing Mae’s attention away. Sylvia shook her head, a soft breath escaping from her lips. Whatever game Robin was playing, she wasn’t about to let him win without a fight.
With a renewed sense of determination, she turned back toward the market, her steps brisk as she focused on the tasks ahead.
Sylvia stepped into Luna’s cluttered, vibrant workspace, the door chiming softly as it swung open. The air was thick with the scent of paint, ink, and the faint hum of magic. Posters from past campaigns—some bold, some whimsical—jostled for attention on the walls, their colors clashing in a symphony of creativity. On the far side of the room, Luna sat perched on a stool, all four hands moving with careful precision as she layered glittery magenta paint onto a canvas. The words “Don’t Get Reeled In! A Seminar on Spotting Scams” shimmered in the light, the paint still wet and alive with energy.
“Can you believe Boss Finn wanted to tone it down?” Luna asked without glancing up, her voice full of amused exasperation. “I told him, ‘Subtlety doesn’t sell.’”
Sylvia chuckled, setting a small basket of potions on the counter as she took in the scene before her. “I’d trust your judgment on that.”
Luna’s smile was audible in her voice as she gestured dramatically to the stack of posters piled neatly in the corner. “Exactly! Imagine the turnout this is going to get,” she said, her excitement practically shining off her. “I’m even doing some street-level guerrilla marketing—mini flyers disguised as fake scams. People flip them over, and bam! Seminar info.”
Sylvia laughed, her eyes gleaming with admiration. “That’s actually brilliant. If nothing else, you’ll get everyone’s attention.”
Luna grinned back at her, finally meeting her gaze. “Thank you!” She set the paintbrush down, the brushstroke of her ideas reaching a stopping point. “What brings you in, by the way? Don’t tell me business is down.”
Sylvia raised a hand. “No, no. I’m just trying to have a little foresight this time.” She hesitated, a thought tugging at the back of her mind before she spoke again. “I was thinking we could brainstorm a campaign for me. Something to give me a little edge. Robin’s been ramping up his public charm offensive.”
Luna tilted her head, her eyes flicking to the multiple screens around her, the feeds of Rafta’s bustling marketplace flashing in bright colors. “Smart move. It’s not just about potions anymore; it’s about persona. What are we thinking? Inspirational? Relatable? Bold and flashy?”
Sylvia sighed, her frustration thinly veiled. “Honestly, I’ll take anything that reminds people I exist. Robin’s got the charisma, the history… even that lizard adds a weird sort of mystique. I’m just the scrappy new girl.”
Luna blinked, considering Sylvia’s words for a moment before her lips quirked into a playful smile. “‘Scrappy’ is relatable,” she said, as though Sylvia had given her the perfect opening. “We lean into that. Play up your rise to the top—hard work, big wins, no shortcuts.” She gestured animatedly, the movements of her many arms flowing like an orchestra conductor. “Think: ‘Real Potions for Real People.’ Or ‘The Underdog Who Over Delivers.’ Something to make Robin’s polished perfection look fake by comparison.”
Sylvia’s eyes brightened as Luna’s ideas took shape. “I like that. Underdog stories land well. And it’s true! I don’t have his resources, but I still make it work.”
“Exactly!” Luna said, her voice rising in energy. “And you’ve got a killer story. People love authenticity. They’ll eat it up.” She paused, leaning back slightly, her tone shifting just a touch as a wry note crept in. “Plus, it doesn’t hurt to have a few allies in your corner. Some are louder about it than others.”
“Allies?” Sylvia asked, tilting her head.
Luna’s smirk was knowing, her gaze flickering back to the wet canvas as she picked up her brush again. “You know, the people you’ve turned into staunch supporters. Like Boss Finn, with this seminar thing. You’re inspiring people—whether or not you realize it.”
Sylvia detected a subtle shift in the air, but Luna was already moving on, dabbing at the poster with fresh paint as if the moment had passed.
“Point is,” Luna added breezily, her attention fully back on her design, “we spin that into marketing gold. People like to be inspired. Leave it to me—I’ll mock up some ideas. You’re going to be the talk of Rafta.”
Sylvia smiled, a soft weight lifting from her shoulders at Luna’s certainty. “Alright, I’ll leave you to your glitter. Just don’t forget, I want final approval on anything with my face on it.”
“Yep!” Luna said, shooting her a wink as she splashed more paint onto the canvas, creating streaks of shimmering color. “Now go work your scrappy magic and let me work mine.”
Sylvia finished tallying her morning sales, muttering the totals as her quill scratched across the ledger. The bubbling of a potion on the back burner punctuated the quiet, its faint, tangy aroma mingling with the herbal undertones of dried ingredients scattered across the workbench. Her gloved fingers tapped idly against the countertop as she double-checked the numbers.
The door swung open, and Finn strolled in with the kind of swagger that made it impossible not to roll her eyes. The little bell above the door jingled in protest, and the light filtering in from outside framed him for a moment before the door swung shut. “Hey, Teach. What’re the odds I’d find you doing exactly what I told you not to?”
Sylvia didn’t bother looking up, but her lips curved ever so slightly. “I’m running a business, not a day spa. If you want to enforce breaks, go try Luna. Good luck.”
Finn closed the distance, leaning innocently against the counter and craning his neck to see what she was working on. “A ledger? Riveting stuff.” His hand darted forward, quick as a flash, and before she could react, he had the ledger in his grasp. “Y’know, this doesn’t count as takin’ five. I’m doing you a favor here.”
“Finn, give it back.” Sylvia planted her hands on the countertop, glaring at him.
He held the ledger overhead, just out of her reach, the smug gleam in his eyes making her blood boil and her cheeks heat. “Nah. I think I’ll hang on to it for ya. Unless you wanna try takin’ it back.”
“You’re the worst,” she muttered, stepping around the counter.
“Probably,” he said, with a wink so disarming it made her stomach flip.
Sylvia lunged forward, her fingers brushing the corner of the ledger before he shifted it higher, the binding practically scraping the rafters. She leaned back on her heels, scowling up at him. “Give. It. Back.”
“Y’know, I was gonna let this slide, but that fire in your eyes? Kinda worth the trouble.”
With an exaggerated stretch, Sylvia jumped again, catching his arm this time. Her forearm scraped against his skin, and she winced, sucking in a sharp breath.
“You okay?” Finn’s playful tone vanished in an instant. He dropped the ledger onto the counter with a soft thud and took a step back, his brows knitting together as he studied her. “Not hurt, are ya?”
“It’s fine,” Sylvia said quickly, tentatively brushing her arm with one hand. “I just didn’t expect to pumice myself.”
Finn blinked, then let out a low laugh, though a flicker of self-consciousness lingered in his expression. “Yeah. Shark thing. Smooth sailin’ one way, rough the other.”
Sylvia softened, offering him a small, crooked smile. “Guess I’ll just have to remember not to take the rough side head-on.”
“Guess so.” Finn glanced at her arm again as though unsure whether to apologize or joke it off. His usual bravado didn’t quite mask the faint flush creeping up his neck. “But seriously, you’ve been at this all morning, haven’t you?”
She hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze. “Maybe,” she admitted reluctantly.
“Take a break.” Finn gave her a pointed look. “Five minutes, at least. No ledgers, no cauldrons, no haggling. Just you, relaxin’. I’ll even keep an eye out.”
Sylvia sighed, leaning on the counter with exaggerated resignation. “Fine. But only because you’ll probably start reorganizing my displays if I don’t.”
“There’s an idea.” Finn’s grin returned, easy and self-assured.
She glared at him, but there was no proper bite to it. Her gloves squeaked softly against the countertop as she pushed off and started for the back room. As she passed Finn, she reached up and gave him a light shove, which he didn’t bother dodging.
“Five minutes,” she called over her shoulder, “and then I’m kicking you out.”
“Whatever you say.” Finn’s chuckle followed her as she disappeared into the back. His slow, unhurried gaze wandered over the shop. The quiet hum of the cauldron filled the space, mingling with the faint gurgling of slimes sitting on their shelves.
Despite himself, he glanced down at the ledger he’d dropped, his fingers brushing its edge as he fought the urge to peek at her figures. Instead, he muttered to himself, “You’re lucky I like ya, Teach,” before settling in to wait.
The shop was quiet, steeped in the late-night hush that settled over Rafta like a heavy blanket. Dim light from Sylvia’s workbench lamp cast a soft glow, creating halos of gold on the scattered notes and glinting glass bottles. A cauldron in the corner murmured with a quiet bubbling sound, the faint tang of brewing magimins mixing with the sharper metallic undertone of her radiation tonic ingredients.
Sylvia sat hunched over her workbench, scribbling formulas and observations with single-minded focus. Her gloved fingers idly tapped her quill against the parchment between notes, and now and then, she muttered half-formed thoughts under her breath. Across the room, Finn had commandeered the small seating area near the front counter. His chair creaked faintly as he shifted his weight, papers fanned out in front of him.
It was quieter here than in his office at the Guild, and though Sylvia hadn’t explicitly invited him to stay, she also hadn’t banished him when he’d wandered in earlier with the excuse of needing a more calm space to finalize his seminar content. Hours had passed since then, the occasional clink of glassware or shuffle of paper breaking the silence, but neither seemed to mind.
Finn chewed at the end of his pencil, which grew shorter by the minute. The page in front of him was half-filled with ideas that had already made the cut: tips on spotting red flags, warning signs of too-good-to-be-true deals, and ways to verify protections. His gaze flicked toward Sylvia, who hadn’t looked up from her work in what seemed like an eternity.
“Hey, Teach,” he said, trying not to disturb the shop’s fragile peace. “What d’you think about this section on enchantment-based scams? Too niche?”
No answer. He frowned, setting the parchment aside and leaning forward to see her better. Sylvia’s quill had stilled in her hand, her head resting atop a mess of scribbled notes. Her arms were curled protectively around her scattered papers as if, even in sleep, she couldn’t quite let go of her work.
Finn’s lips parted, a soft exhale of amusement escaping him. “Unbelievable,” he murmured, though his tone lacked its usual teasing edge. It was softer, touched with something closer to admiration. He stood and crossed the room, shoes barely making a sound against the worn wooden floor.
“C’mon, Teach,” he whispered, crouching beside her. “You’re gonna give yourself a crick in the neck sleepin’ like that.”
Sylvia didn’t stir. Finn hesitated, his hand hovering over her shoulder as he weighed his options. She needed the rest—hell, probably more than that. But slumped at her workbench? She’d wake up stiff and miserable. Waking her felt wrong, but moving her himself was a whole other kettle of fish.
“Alright,” he muttered under his breath after a moment's consideration. “Guess it’s up to me.”
As he reached for her, a sharp hoot sounded from the rafters above. Oswald, perched on a beam, fluffed his feathers with the indignation of a creature ten times his size. His golden eyes locked onto Finn, defying him to proceed.
Finn scowled up at the bird, the tip of his tailfin cutting the air in agitation. Oswald hooted again, louder this time, and hopped closer to the edge of the beam as if prepared to dive-bomb him.
“Shush, featherbrain,” Finn said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just makin’ sure she gets some actual rest.”
After a brief stare-down, Oswald relented—though not without one last, muted hoot of disapproval. Finn rolled his eyes but took the bird’s acquiescence as permission. Carefully, he slid an arm around Sylvia’s shoulders and another under her knees, lifting her with care.
Sylvia barely stirred, her head lolling against his chest as he carried her toward the back room. Finn nudged the door open with his foot, stepping inside. It wasn’t much—a cramped, dimly lit space with shelves of empty potion bottles and a battered, oversized armchair tucked into the corner, one of its legs missing and replaced by three thick books. A neatly folded quilt and a lumpy pillow sat atop it, and nestled among them was a familiar plush centipus, its many legs akimbo.
Finn paused, his gaze lingering on the stuffed toy. A small, lopsided smile tugged at his lips. The sight of it hit harder than it had any right to. Maybe she hadn’t only been humoring him at the carnival after all.
He set her down as gently as he’d picked her up, draping the blanket over her. The room’s faint chill brushed against his skin, but Sylvia didn’t so much as shiver. Instead, she sighed contentedly, curling slightly into the quilt.
It wasn’t until he stepped back that Finn’s smile faded. His gaze swept the room again, taking in the lack of a proper bed, the worn armchair serving as its makeshift substitute, and the organized chaos of potion supplies crammed into every available corner.
Some part of him had felt heroic about moving her off the bench. But one look at that sagging chair told him he hadn’t done her any favors. It was a damn insult to anyone trying to rest. The idea of Sylvia crashing here, day after day, after working herself to the brink...
He dragged a hand through his hair with a huff. Frustration simmered low in his chest—at the circumstances, at the choices that landed her here, at the way she just took it all on the chin without complaint. She wouldn't fix it herself. Essentials only until the competition was over, she'd told him. But this wasn't a luxury. This was basic damn comfort. And it gnawed at him.
He turned, his jaw tightening as he reached for her spare key. His fingers lingered on the cool metal as he secured the door behind him, the weight of it sparking an idea. He stared at the key for a moment, his expression hardening with quiet resolve.
Instead of tossing it through the mail slot, he slipped it into his pocket with a nod to himself. Finn glanced back one more time, already piecing together exactly how he was going to fix this.
Sylvia stirred awake, squinting at the soft light spilling through the curtains. For a moment, disorientation lingered. She didn’t remember going to sleep, nor saying goodnight. Her last memory was scribbling notes on her recipe, Finn muttering ideas for his seminar in the background. Cocooned in her blanket with her quilt carefully tucked around her, she wondered.
Sitting up slowly, Sylvia stretched, her body protesting from the odd angles the armchair had forced on her. Her hand brushed the centipus plush nestled beside her pillow, and her cheeks warmed at the sight. Slowly, the edges of a memory came into focus: Finn’s low voice, his arms supporting her as he moved her. It was hazy and fleeting, but enough to leave her both embarrassed and oddly comforted.
She folded the quilt neatly, fluffed the pillow, and placed the centipus on top, as though taking extra care to clean up would mask her flustered thoughts.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” came Oswald’s dry greeting as she emerged from the backroom. He perched on the counter, feathers ruffled as he preened himself. “Late nights don’t seem to slow you down much.”
“Morning, Uncle Oswald,” Sylvia replied, her tone bright despite the stiffness in her back. She moved to the cauldrons, checking their contents before giving them a stir. “It’s not like I do it for fun. There’s always something to finish.”
Oswald made a sound halfway between a hoot and a judgmental chuckle. “I’m glad someone else seems to think you deserve a little quality sleep, at least.”
Sylvia shot him a sidelong glance, deflecting from the heat rising to her skin. “What’s this? Is that a hint of approval I hear?”
“Approval?” Oswald fluffed his feather, affronted. “He has his uses, that’s all. But you could stand to take better care of yourself, kid. You work hard enough as it is.”
Sylvia didn’t answer, focusing on arranging her sight, alertness, and insight enhancers in the shop window. The simple flow of the task helped settle her thoughts.
“These should sell well,” she said finally, stepping back to inspect her work. “Sight to see what you otherwise wouldn’t, alertness to remain vigilant, insight to discern intentions. I’m expecting these will be popular after the seminar today.”
“You’re a shrewd one,” Oswald said, his voice carrying a hint of pride. “Always two steps ahead.”
She gave him a faint smile as she rubbed her gloves together, dusting them off. “Speaking of the seminar, I should get going.”
Oswald bid her farewell as Sylvia grabbed her bag and headed for the door. She locked up, her gaze remaining briefly on the neatly arranged display in the window. Then, with a deep breath, she strode out into the morning, full of anticipation for the day ahead.
The Heroes’ Guild was bustling with energy, more so than usual. Sylvia paused just inside the grand hall, her nerves humming like static, her gaze sweeping over the mingling crowd. Adventurers in battered armor rubbed shoulders with merchants clutching notebooks, while a handful of Rafta’s working folk—shopkeepers, farmers, even a blacksmith still dusted with soot—added to the mix. It was a diverse group, more than Sylvia had expected, and it made her inhale with a quiet pride.
Near the assembly hall doors, Finn and Baptiste stood in animated discussion. Finn gestured broadly toward the clipboard Baptiste held, his other hand slicing through the air for emphasis. Baptiste remained composed, jotting notes with the smooth efficiency of someone accustomed to handling big personalities.
Sylvia approached, catching the tail end of Finn’s sentence.
“… if they can’t hear me in the back row, this whole thing’s a bust.”
Baptiste offered a calm reply. “The amplification spells are flawless. No one will miss a word.”
“Am I interrupting?” Sylvia asked lightly, stepping closer.
Both men turned. Finn’s face lit up the moment he saw her.
“Teach,” he greeted, “you’re just in time to keep me from losing my mind over logistics.”
“Hardly losing your mind,” Baptiste said dryly. “Merely… thorough.”
Sylvia grinned. “Sounds about right. Everything ready?”
“Ready as it’ll get,” Finn said with a shrug, nodding toward the crowd. “Better turnout than I figured. Thought it’d mostly be sword-swingers and mages.”
“Instead, you got half the town,” Sylvia observed.
Finn chuckled, his chest puffing slightly.
“Well,” Baptiste interjected, “it’s a testament to the universal appeal of personal improvement, isn’t it? Insight and resilience are assets in any field, be it adventuring or managing a market stall.”
Finn smirked. “Guess that means I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
Sylvia chuckled softly, folding her arms as she glanced toward the hall doors. “You’ll do great.”
“Hope you’re right. Hate to let the Guildmaster here down.”
“Let me down?” Baptiste raised an eyebrow. “This event is already a triumph by the metric of attendance alone.”
Finn looked unconvinced, but didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced at Sylvia. “Thanks for comin’, Teach.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said simply.
Baptiste cleared his throat after a moment. “You should get ready. The crowd is filling in quickly, and I suspect they won’t wait patiently forever.”
Finn nodded, his usual swagger returning as he took a step back. “Alright, I’m on it. Don’t get into too much trouble without me.”
Sylvia blew out a sharp breath from between her lips, watching him stride toward the stage. Beside her, Baptiste surveyed the crowd, hands clasped behind his back.
“It’s no small feat,” he mused. “Boss Finn’s particular… flair is well-suited for this manner of engagement. Heroes respect someone who speaks their language, however they appear to be the minority today. We rarely see such a varied group here.”
Sylvia smiled faintly, watching the crowd shuffle into the hall. “I’m glad people are giving him a chance. He’s really trying.”
Baptiste glanced at her, his expression approving. “Your faith in him seems well-placed. He has a knack for commanding attention and a unique understanding of Rafta’s ecosystem—heroes and merchants alike.”
As they watched the last of the attendees settle into their seats, Baptiste added in a lower tone, “Oh, one more thing, Sylvia. It may not be germane to today’s events, but the Guild has learned that a party of heroes disturbed some… volatile magic in the Wastelands recently, which seems to have triggered an irradiated rain. We’re monitoring the situation in case it drifts toward town.”
Sylvia straightened instinctively at the sudden shift in topic. She glanced out the high windows of the guildhall, half-expecting to see the sky already darkening. “How bad is it?”
“Unclear,” Baptiste said, waving a hand as if to minimize the concern. “We’ll know more tomorrow when our weather mage returns. There’s no immediate danger, but I wanted to make you aware that we’ll have limited ability to venture into the Wastelands for the next few days without more radiation tonics.”
Sylvia nodded, unease flickering briefly before her focus shifted back to the seminar. The doors creaked shut, and Baptiste adjusted his cufflinks, his expression brightening.
“Now, let’s see what Boss Finn has in store,” he said, leading her toward the seats.
Anticipation coursed through Sylvia’s veins as she followed. She clutched her notebook, determined to absorb every moment.
The lights dimmed slightly, and the hall hushed. When Finn stepped onto the stage, the crowd’s attention settled on him like a mantle. Sylvia’s lips curved into a quiet smile. His charm and confidence emanated, filling the space effortlessly. For this moment, at least, he had everyone exactly where he wanted them.
Chapter Text
The applause that followed Finn’s final words wasn’t raucous, but it carried an enthusiasm that seemed to buzz through the air. Finn shifted his shoulders, looking pleased in a way Sylvia hadn’t seen before. She loitered by the door as she watched the crowd slowly filter toward the exits. The applause morphed into a low hum of chatter as attendees broke off into smaller groups, some packing up their notes while others hovered near Finn at the front of the room.
Finn stood tall, arms loosely crossed, no hint of exhaustion in his movements. If anything, he looked like he could go another round, his grin sharp as he fielded a few lingering questions. He leaned slightly toward an older merchant, who was scribbling furiously in a notebook, and said something decisively.
Another ripple of agreement passed through the group, followed by a smattering of applause from the few still lingering. Finn glanced around, catching Sylvia’s eye briefly before returning to the questions still being tossed at him.
Sylvia couldn’t suppress her own smile. There was something impressive about seeing Finn like this—like he was truly in his element.
“It’s rare to see someone change course so effectively.” Corsac’s voice broke through her reverie.
Sylvia turned to find him standing beside Xid, who was lounging against a column with a deliberate nonchalance that appeared utterly effortless. Corsac’s expression was as inscrutable as ever, but there was a faintly approving note in his tone.
“Yeah, not bad for a tough guy,” Xid added with a smirk. “Have to say, didn’t expect him to know his stuff and deliver it like that. You must be rubbing off on him, Sylvia.”
Sylvia laughed, brushing off the comment with a wave. “Me? No way, I couldn’t speak in front of a crowd like that to save my life. That’s all him.”
Xid grinned, tilting her head toward Finn. “Either way, you called it. Gotta hand it to you.”
The crowd around Finn was thinning now, leaving him momentarily alone as he ran a hand through his hair and drew in a deep breath. Corsac gave a curt nod. “Your instincts are finely honed, Sylvia.”
Sylvia smiled faintly but didn’t reply, her attention drawn back to Finn as he scanned the room and started toward her.
“Felt like I was soakin’ up every spark in the room,” he said as he approached, his voice invigorated but carrying that faint rasp of someone who’d been speaking for a long stretch.
“And you handled it like a pro,” Sylvia said, her grin widening. “Seriously, Finn. That was incredible.”
He shrugged, though his smirk didn’t slip. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s not inflate my ego too much, Teach.”
“Too late,” she teased, elbowing him lightly. They chatted a few minutes longer—Xid recounting how her first tour manager was a total con artist, Corsac offering a rare chuckle at her expense—before making their way out of the guildhall together.
The market outside was alive with its usual bustle: vendors calling out their wares, shoppers haggling over prices, the smell of spices and fresh bread thick in the air.
“Hey,” Finn said, gesturing toward the poster plastered to a nearby wall: The Underdog Who Over Delivers! “You’re really layin’ it on thick with this, huh?”
Sylvia followed his gaze and grinned. “It’s working, though, isn’t it? Luna’s a genius, which means I am, too, for hiring her.”
Finn chuckled. “Not bad, Teach. Looks like you’re givin’ Robin a run for his money.”
“That’s the plan,” she said. “Just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But let’s not change the subject too quickly. You were amazing back there. Really.”
Finn tugged at his bowtie. “Yeah, well. Thanks.”
“Seriously, you seemed so at ease. And the way those people were flocking to you? I think you’ve got a real knack for this.”
His smirk faltered, and for a moment, he looked almost modest. “Maybe. Feels good, though. Like I’m actually doin’ somethin’ right for once.”
Sylvia paused before replying, her tone thoughtful. “Well, you are. Don’t lose sight of that.”
Finn glanced down, his gaze catching on the cobblestones before flicking back up. He nodded faintly, a small, almost imperceptible motion. “Yeah. Guess we’ll see.”
The market hummed around them as they fell into step, the conversation shifting to easier topics punctuated by Finn’s low chuckle and Sylvia’s quiet laughter. Somewhere in the rhythm of it, the significance of the moment slipped away, leaving only the steady cadence of their footsteps.
As they approached Sylvia’s shop, Finn slowed his pace, casting her a sidelong glance. “So, Teach, you take your break yet today?”
Sylvia put a hand to her chest in mock offense, a smile curving her lips. “Coming to your seminar was my break. I even sat in the back where I could fall asleep. It doesn’t get more relaxing than that.”
Finn snorted. “That doesn’t count, and you know it. Thinking about work while you’re not workin’ isn’t a break.” His tone was teasing, but the hint of a frown gave him away, the concern hiding just below the surface.
“Broken record,” Sylvia muttered, but there was endearment buried in the familiar complaint.
As they neared the door to the shop, Sylvia’s pace slowed. She frowned, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the door slightly ajar and the lights on inside.
“Did I leave the front door unlocked?” she asked herself, her hand hovering near the doorframe, a flicker of tension in her voice.
Finn’s eyes immediately flicked to the door, then back to her. His smile softened into something more reassuring, his voice deliberately calm. “Don’t sweat it, Teach. We’re good.”
He gestured toward the door, a nudge for her to step inside. Sylvia hesitated for a beat, her guard still up, but something in his voice helped ease the knot in her chest. She stepped over the threshold, the familiar scent of potions and herbs filling the air, the usual hum of the shop settling over her like a comfort. Nothing seemed out of place.
“Well, that’s a relief,” she muttered, though a twinge of uncertainty remained.
Just as she was about to continue her inspection, a familiar voice called out from the backroom. “Oh, good, you’re here!”
Sylvia’s tense posture melted almost instantly at the sound of Saffron’s voice, the joy of it washing away her concern. “Saffron? What are you doing here?”
The carpenter’s genial smile greeted her as she appeared from around the corner. “There’s a surprise for you in the back. Don’t worry—I didn’t touch your brewing supplies.”
Sylvia regarded her with curiosity, then glanced at Finn, who gave her a shrug that bordered on too innocent. She noticed the faint satisfaction in his eyes but said nothing as she followed Saffron into the back.
The moment she stepped into the backroom, Sylvia froze, her eyes widening. Instead of the usual clutter, there was a simple, sturdy wooden cot in place of her armchair. Someone had neatly made the cot with her quilt; they had moved the armchair to the side, stacking a few crates on it—its missing leg replaced, a near-perfect match for the others.
Her pulse quickened in pleasant shock. “Saffron… you did this?”
Saffron’s eyes sparkled with a companionable mischief. “Well, I had a little help. Someone alerted me to your insufficient sleeping arrangements.”
Sylvia turned to Finn, the surprise on her face growing. “Wait, you—”
Finn’s eyes widened briefly before lowering his gaze to the ground. “Yeah, yeah. I might’ve mentioned something in passing. Thought you could use somethin’ a little more comfortable than a fire hazard to crash in.”
“Boss Finn was very persuasive, in truth,” Saffron said, pinning him with a meaningful look. “He really insisted.”
Sylvia’s voice caught in her throat as she looked between the two of them, her emotions swirling. “You—both of you…”
Finn shrugged, his nonchalance at odds with his pleased expression. “It’s no big deal, Teach. Just figured you deserved it.”
Saffron’s smile softened with affectionate mischief. “And I’m glad you’re allowing yourself to accept a little help.”
Sylvia’s gratitude swelled, and she blinked away the tears that threatened to form. Her mind slingshotted back, unbidden, to her first night alone in the shop: curled awkwardly in the armchair, finding no comfortable angle for her limbs, every strange creak and whisper of the old building clawing at her nerves. She'd woken that morning with a crick in her neck, a pounding headache, and a hollow in her chest she hadn't dared name because it was definitely a mix of fear, homesickness and regret she couldn't afford to acknowledge.
Now, the sight of the neatly made cot, the simple sturdiness of it, made her shoulders tight for entirely different reasons. “Thank you," she said, looking back up at them. "Really.”
A beat of silence settled over the room, the air thick. Saffron clapped her hands together, breaking the quiet with a hollow knock of flesh meeting wood. “I’ll leave you to settle in. I hope I haven’t disturbed anything in your space.” She placed her wooden hand gently on Sylvia’s shoulder. “Rest well tonight, Sylvia.”
Sylvia nodded, her heart lighter as she ran her fingers over the headboard. It wasn’t just a bed—it was the first thing in a long time that made this space feel like home. She turned to Finn, caught the way he shifted his weight, as if he might bolt for the door at the first sign of gratitude he couldn't laugh off. His bravado had a frayed edge to it—awkward, unpolished, almost boyish—and it cracked something tender open in her chest.
Once Saffron had disappeared into the front of the shop, Finn seemed to breathe a bit easier, though he kept his distance. “Another investment from your star pupil.”
Sylvia gave him a lighthearted smile. “You’re my only pupil.”
Finn held up his hands in mock surrender. “Let’s not argue the finer details.”
She nodded absently, still absorbing the gesture. She hadn’t realized just how much she needed something like this until now. “This is incredibly kind of you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion.
He looked restless, pulling at the loose ends of his tie. “No problem. Just take care of yourself, alright?”
With a last survey of the room, Finn turned toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”
Sylvia watched him leave, her fingers still tracing the wood of the headboard. The door clicked softly behind him, and the shop fell into a new, quieter rhythm. She stood there for a moment, letting the calm wash over her before finally sitting down on the side of the bed. She glanced at the armchair piled with supplies, a reminder of what this space had been. Then, looking back at the door, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief before returning to work. The slimes wouldn’t feed themselves.
The soft light of early morning streamed through the front windows, illuminating the shelves filled with neatly arranged vials and jars. Sylvia enjoyed a rare moment of peace, basking in the quiet hum of the wind outside. She couldn’t help but marvel at the absence of the usual twinges in her back and neck—she had almost forgotten what it felt like to wake up without some baseline level of pain.
The tension that had knotted her muscles for so long seemed to melt away; a lightness, a feeling of reprieve, settled over her body. She was already pulling on her gloves and preparing bottles of freshly brewed radiation tonic, ready to get back into the swing of things. These tonics would help ensure she could still hire out some heroes today regardless of where the radiation storm ended up.
The jingle of the doorbell broke her concentration, and Sylvia didn’t need visual confirmation to know who had walked in. The tapping of Robin’s cane punctuated his deliberate footfalls. Mae, perched lazily on his shoulder, tracked the room with that unsettling, half-lidded stare.
“Good morning, Sylvia,” Robin greeted, his voice smooth and composed. “How are competition preparations treating you?”
Sylvia set down the bottle she was labeling, lips pulling into a controlled smile as she glanced up at him. Her confidence persisted, somewhat buoyed by the good night’s sleep, but wariness flared—there was always an undercurrent to Robin’s presence, something he wasn’t saying.
“I’m holding up,” she replied, her tone neutral but firm. “Just trying to make sure I’m ready for the final round. I’m surprised you haven’t thrown any curveballs at me in the lead up. I’ve come to expect that from my opponents.”
Robin leaned on his cane, his usual smile widening as he regarded Sylvia. Mae’s unblinking stare stayed focused on her the entire time.
“I don’t need to sabotage you to win, Sylvia,” he said, his voice remaining perfectly affable. “The quality of my potions speaks for itself, and everybody knows it.”
Sylvia arched an eyebrow. “Well, that’s a pleasant change of pace,” she said, her expression unreadable. “Thanks for giving me a breather.”
Robin stepped closer to the counter. “I’ve been thinking about our match, though. And I believe there’s a way we both come out ahead. A little… compromise, if you will.”
Sylvia fought the urge to roll her eyes. He was always trying to control the narrative. She put her hands on her hips. “What kind of compromise?” she asked, keeping her tone steady.
Robin leaned in, his eyes glittering with that effortless charm. “The end of this matchup is a foregone conclusion—you must know this as well. But it needn’t be a bloodbath. I’ll make you an offer: You lose on purpose, and I’ll go easy on you in return. I’ll gift you the prize money to pay off the remainder of your debt, and you receive the reputational boost of coming close to defeating me. We both win.”
Sylvia froze for a moment, hoping her expression betrayed none of the confusion swirling in her mind. Why? Why would he offer her something like this? It wasn’t to help her, that much was certain.
She compelled herself to appear calm, even as her thoughts churned. “What’s in it for you?” she asked, her voice even.
Robin’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something stony in his eyes now. Mae’s claws dug into his shoulder and her stare shifted up toward Oswald, who was quietly observing from the rafters.
“I will maintain my reputation as Rafta’s magnanimous titan of industry,” Robin said smoothly. “I’ll defeat you just enough to keep up appearances, but not enough to harm the prestige you’ve worked so hard to cultivate. And, of course, I’ll be taking the Mavenbloom. But don’t worry, Sylvia. You’ll still walk away with the money, and everyone’s favorite underdog will stay in business. It’s a win-win by my estimation. No need for you to suffer unduly.”
The sharpness of his words cut deeper than Sylvia expected, the mention of Mavenbloom twisting the knife. That ingredient meant more to her than just a prize—it was the key to restoring Oswald.
“No deal,” Sylvia said firmly before she finished thinking the words, her voice colder than she intended, one hand pressing down against the counter.
Robin’s smile wavered for a second, momentarily nonplussed. He straightened, brushing off the moment quickly as if it had never happened. His composure returned, but a quiet sense of victory settled over her for cracking through his facade.
“You’re turning down a certain fortune?” he said, his voice unruffled. “Interesting. But I respect your conviction. You clearly take great pride in your work.”
He turned to leave, Mae twitching slightly as though preparing to lunge from his shoulder, but the lizard made no further move. Robin gave a final glance back at Sylvia, his eyes callous above his pleasant smile.
“I’ll see you at the final round, Sylvia,” he said with a casual wave. “Don’t say I didn’t offer you a way out.”
The door chimed again as it closed behind him. The shop remained silent after Robin’s departure, but to Sylvia, the tension lingered like the smell of burning hair. She glanced toward Oswald, who had been silent during the exchange, perched in his usual spot. His amber eyes followed her as she moved to gather her scattered thoughts and bottled potions, the weight of Robin’s offer still prominent in her thoughts.
Finally, she let out a long breath and turned her head up toward him. “Well?” she asked, her voice sharper than she meant. “You were pretty quiet through all of that. Got anything to say now?”
Oswald tilted his head, ruffling his feathers in that way he did when he was deciding whether to offer a lecture or sincerity. He opted for the latter. “I didn’t think you needed me squawking in the middle of a negotiation. You held your own just fine.”
Sylvia frowned, setting a newly labeled bottle onto the counter with a dull clink. “Fine? I turned down the perfect solution to my problems. The prize money alone would’ve…” She trailed off, unsure how to articulate the conflicting feelings swirling inside her.
“And yet,” Oswald said gently, gliding down to the counter, “you didn’t take it. Because you know there’s more at stake than just paying off a debt.” His tone softened further, and for a moment, Sylvia could hear his approval despite his gruff demeanor. “You’re not the type to take a shortcut.”
Sylvia’s frown deepened. “You say that like you have room to judge, but let’s not forget why I’m in this mess to begin with.” She gestured toward him, her words cutting through the air like a blade. “Your mess, remember? Your debt.”
Oswald didn’t flinch, though his feathers puffed out slightly in response to her tone. “Oh, trust me, I haven’t forgotten,” he said, his voice dry but tinged with guilt. “I carry it every day, Sylvia. You think I enjoy being stuck like this? Do you think I wanted you to inherit my mistakes?”
Sylvia paused, her anger cooling as she saw the regret in his eyes. She sighed, pushing her hair back from her forehead. “No. I don’t think you wanted this. But regardless of whether you wanted it, it’s my life now. And… I can’t just let someone like Robin dictate how it’s going to play out. I have to fight for it. Even if it’s messy.”
Oswald nodded, his gaze steady. “That’s why I’m proud of you, kid. For all my faults—and they’re plentiful—you’ve got a spine. And you’ve got the brains to see through people like Robin. That Mavenbloom means more to you than he could ever understand. And as much as I hate dragging you into this, I’m glad you’re not giving up.”
His heartening words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sylvia felt a flicker of warmth. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to steady her resolve.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. “I’m not giving up. Not on winning, and definitely not on you.” She glanced toward the window, where the sun was rising higher over the horizon. “Robin’s wrong if he thinks I’m going to roll over just because he’s got everyone else mesmerized.”
Oswald ruffled his feathers, his tone lightening as he added, “That’s my girl. Now, if you’re done brooding, let’s focus on getting those potions perfect. You’ve got a competition to win.”
Sylvia chuckled softly, shaking her head as she returned to her work. The weight of Robin’s visit lingered, but it settled into something more manageable—a challenge she was ready to face head-on.
Sylvia pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Heroes Guild, the cool air inside a welcome reprieve from the unseasonal midmorning heat. Her mind buzzed with lists—potions to bottle, ingredient orders to place, errands to run—but in the background lingered the question that Robin’s offer had left her with. Why now? Why risk tipping his hand when he’s already ahead? Is it possible he does know why I need the Mavenbloom?
She barely noticed the clamor of heroes bustling about, recounting tales of their exploits or bartering for the next big job. When she approached Baptiste’s office, the atmosphere shifted. The Guildmaster stood behind his desk, his calm authority commanding attention despite the growing tension around him. A small crowd of employees encircled him, all of whom stood attentively as he issued instructions in a low but urgent tone. They broke away at his ultimate words of “Get to work!” and streamed urgently past Sylvia.
Baptiste caught sight of her and gestured her inside with measured urgency. “Ah, Sylvia. Good timing,” he said, his usually smooth baritone tinged with a hint of solemnity. “I’m afraid we have a situation.”
Sylvia frowned, her to-do list forgotten. “The storm?”
“Precisely,” Baptiste said, his expression grave. “It’s on track to pass directly over the town later this afternoon or early evening. The effects will be… unpleasant.”
Sylvia nodded but remained silent, allowing him to go on.
Baptiste nodded toward a nearby board where a map of Rafta had been pinned, red lines charting the storm’s path; it had passed through the Sulfuric Falls and the Storm Plains on its way, gathering mass. “Magical radiation can be volatile. Nausea, dizziness, burns—but prolonged exposure could cause unpredictable side effects. People might find themselves growing scales or sprouting wings, if they’re lucky.” His lips pinched. “If they’re not, well…” He didn’t finish the thought aloud.
“Right,” Sylvia said, already feeling the knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. Oswald’s current state was evidence enough for her. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re spreading the word now,” Baptiste replied. “Everyone should remain indoors during the storm and for some time after it passes. Our resident weather mage will follow it with a downpour to wash the worst of the irradiated water off into the bay. The Guild will keep a skeleton crew active to assist anyone caught outside, but hopefully, everyone takes precautions to avoid that.”
Sylvia frowned as she looked at the map, then at Baptiste’s composed but weary expression. “You’re sending heroes out during the storm?” she asked.
“Only a handful of the most prepared and experienced,” Baptiste replied. “It’s a calculated risk, but someone has to make sure anyone caught out there gets to safety.”
Sylvia hesitated for only a moment before opening her satchel and pulling out several neatly labeled bottles of radiation tonic. She set them down on the desk in front of Baptiste. “Here. I just bottled these. I’ve been refining my recipe all week. They’ll help mitigate the effects if anyone has to be exposed, and they should help a bit even if taken after the fact.”
Baptiste’s expression lifted as he reached for one bottle, examining it briefly before meeting her gaze. “Sylvia, this is exceedingly generous. Thank you.” His tone was genuine, a note of appreciation breaking through the professional urgency in his voice.
“It’s the least I can do,” Sylvia said with a wave of her hand, though she couldn’t hide the subtle, proud curve of her lips. “The heroes are the ones putting themselves at risk. I couldn’t look myself in the eyes if I didn’t at least try to help keep you all safe.”
Baptiste inclined his head in a gracious nod. “You may have just saved lives. I’ll ensure these are distributed to the right people.”
Sylvia adjusted her satchel, feeling lighter now. “Good. I’ll brew more ASAP—just send someone by the shop later. I’m sure these will be big sellers today, but I’ll hold more in reserve for you all.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Baptiste said, his calm smile returning for a moment before he turned back to his work. “Take care of yourself, Sylvia.”
“You too,” she replied, and as she walked out of the guildhall, she felt a flicker of accomplishment. Robin, the competition, her debt—it all faded. This was why she worked so hard. Her potions made a difference.
As the door of the Heroes Guild swung shut behind her, Sylvia pulled her gloves tighter, her mind already spinning. The brisk air outside felt charged, as if the storm’s approach was seeping into the atmosphere.
Her first thought was of the kindling—she had plenty of straw, but she’d need Saffron’s best fuels to finish more batches of tonic before the rain rolled in. Then, ingredients. She’d used most of the reagents necessary for radiation tonics in the batch she’d just handed off, however the slimes would be ready with more by the time she got back to the shop. She would supplement with a visit to Quinn and their growing selection of wares.
She frowned as she mentally ticked off her inventory. She might need to get creative. Mandrake roots could work, but the potency wasn’t as reliable. She didn’t have time for trial and error, and she would not risk an experimental brew for something like this.
A chill ran through her as the severity of Baptiste’s warning echoed in her mind. She thought of her friends, her fellow vendors, and the adventurers who might still be in the process of returning to town. The idea of anything happening to them made her heart plummet.
With renewed determination, she straddled her broomstick, kicked off the street and zipped toward Saffron’s workshop.
The marketplace bustled below, louder and more chaotic than usual as news of the storm spread, but Sylvia barely noticed. She soared over the commotion on her broomstick, her focus locked in on Quinn’s shop. She skidded to a halt in the air and immediately started unloading her notes on every iteration of her radiation tonic recipe from her satchel.
“Quinn!” she called, already fishing out her coin pouch. “Here’s what I need—anything I can use for radiation tonics, and whatever you’ve got that could help in a pinch.”
Quinn’s lips pressed into a thin line, tucking away the small book they’d been flipping through. “Well, hello to you, too. What’s the rush?”
Sylvia paused briefly to give them a surprised glance. “The storm. Baptiste says it’s going to hit as early as this afternoon, and I’m brewing as many tonics as I can before then.” She thrust a fistful of coins at Quinn, several falling to the distant streets below. “Here. Is this enough for everything on the list?”
Quinn whistled low, sorting through the payment. “You’re really going all out, huh? Hate to break it to you, but half the people in town won’t take it seriously. ‘It’s probably fine,’ they’ll say. Then next week, boom—extra limbs, glowing skin, maybe someone sprouts a tail.” They shrugged. “Mutation bingo, here we come.”
Sylvia exhaled sharply, her fingers drumming on her broomstick handle. “Not helping. I’m in a time crunch here.”
Quinn shrugged, handing over several armloads of components. “Relax. Here you go, potions witch. All set.”
Sylvia directed the entire purchase into her bottomless bag and fished out a bottle, offering it to Quinn. “Thanks. Here—radiation tonic. Just in case.” Sylvia looked around, suddenly realizing she didn’t know where Quinn stayed when they weren’t at the market. “Do you have shelter somewhere? You can come ride out the storm at my shop if you need.”
Quinn’s smirk faltered slightly as they eyed the bottle, then her. “Thoughtful, but unnecessary. I’ve got plans.”
Sylvia hesitated, halfway to adjusting her satchel. “Plans?”
“Riding out the storm below decks with the pirates,” Quinn said with a shrug, popping the tonic into Boxer’s open mouth. “The fluffy ones.”
“The pirates? I thought you hated each other.”
“Hate’s a strong word. We’re in a prank war, Sylvia, not a blood feud. They hurl moldy cheese, I curse their drinks. Very civilized.” Their grin widened. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
Sylvia stared for half a beat, then shook her head, a breathless laugh escaping her. “Just… don’t get caught in the storm, okay? And share that tonic with Salt and Pepper.”
“No promises,” Quinn called as she took off, their lazy wave barely visible over her shoulder. “You better brew fast, witch—I’d hate to have to find a new supplier.”
Sylvia didn’t respond, already speeding back toward her shop. As she landed and pushed open the door, her mental checklist solidified: stoke the fires, harvest the slimes, inventory the ingredients. Nothing needed to be competition-level, just potent enough to protect whoever ended up using it and in a large enough batch to spread that protection as wide as possible.
“Oswald!” she called, upending her satchel over the counter. Ingredients tumbled out in a chaotic pile. “You’re on sorting duty. We’ve got work to do.”
The owl, perched on the bookshelf, ruffled his feathers and peered down at her. “Should I be worried, or is this just business as usual?”
“Worried,” Sylvia admitted, grabbing a sheet of parchment to draft her recipe plans. “There’s a magical radiation storm heading straight for town. The Heroes Guild is telling everyone to stay inside, but we’re going to make sure they stay safe even in the worst-case scenario.”
Oswald tilted his head, his expression softening as he hopped to the counter. “You’re really something, kid.”
Sylvia glanced up, thrown by the awe in his voice. She waved him off, her tone brisk. “I’m just doing my job. And you’re helping, so no slacking.”
He hooted a small laugh, plucking ingredients from the pile into careful stacks. “I don’t have a choice when you put it that way.”
Her grin flashed briefly as she moved toward the slime pots. “You always have a choice, Uncle. But I appreciate it.”
The urgency of the storm pressed against her like a ticking clock, but Sylvia’s resolve sharpened with each passing second. Her potions could make the difference—for her friends, her neighbors, even complete strangers. No storm, no matter how dangerous, would stop her from doing what she did best.
The storm loomed closer, its swirling, multicolored clouds like a fist on the horizon. Periodic flashes of lightning lit the sky, each one followed by a deep, resonant crack that seemed to echo through Sylvia’s chest. The weight of the tonics clinking in her satchel, paired with the ache in her hands from hours of brewing, served as constant reminders of her mission: hand these out before it was too late.
Her first stop was Luna, who greeted her at the edge of her balcony. The moth gave four quick thumbs-ups, antennae twitching as she grabbed the bottle. “Don’t worry about me, Sylvia. I’ve got my espresso machine and an endless backlog of paperwork to keep me occupied. I’m all set.”
Sylvia managed a small smile and took off again, the wind stinging her cheeks as she climbed higher toward the forge. Muktuk was hammering away in time with the rolling thunder. When she handed him a tonic, he grinned, broad and bright as the sparks flying from his anvil.
“Your spirit is fierce, Sylvia! I will endure this storm as I endure all things!” He tucked the tonic into his apron, clapping a soot-streaked mitten over his chest. “With the aid of beloved friends, of course!”
As she flew between stops, her mind flicked to the ones already accounted for. Saffron had accepted her tonic hours ago during her kindling pickup. Roxanne had waved away Sylvia’s concerns with a dramatic flourish, promising she’d be safe taking “this perfect opportunity to go spelunking, darling,” though she kept the tonic. Quinn, Salt, and Pepper were likewise prepared, stationed below decks with the pirates and, if Quinn’s grin was to be believed, a cache of snacks. Sylvia laughed to herself at the “prank war truce,” but she knew they’d be safe and wasn’t one to question miracles.
At the guildhall, Mint thanked her for stopping by again with a firm hug and assured her that Baptiste would distribute the extras. Xid strummed her guitar mimic softly for morale while Corsac refreshed the waterproofing on his hat, anticipating trouble.
By the time Sylvia made her last stop, her energy was flagging, but she pushed forward. Finn’s shack came into view, perched precariously near the beach, its roof drooping under years of salt air. Seated on his usual driftwood log, one leg propped up and an arm draped lazily over his knee, he looked for all the world as if the storm weren’t bearing down on them.
“Geez, Teach.” His smirk widened as she landed, her boots leaving grooves in the sand as she skidded to a stop. “You’d think the sky was falling.”
Sylvia directed a sharp glare at him as she shoved a tonic into his hands. “It might as well be. The storm’s raining magical radiation. You need to be prepared.”
He drummed his nails against the bottle, turning it over in his hand. “So what? I’m not scared of gettin’ wet.” Patting the log with one hand, he went on, “This is a prime spot for storm watching. Even gives me a chance to test out your brew. Bet you’ll get a rave review.”
Sylvia’s temper flared, her voice rising. “You’d better be joking! This isn’t some harmless shower. It’s dangerous, and your place isn’t exactly stormproof. My shop is open if you need.” She paused, her tone softening, though still insistent. “For my peace of mind, please take this seriously.”
The shift in her tone caught him off guard. His gaze dropped to the tonic, and he ran a thumb over the neck of the bottle, thoughtful. “Alright, Teach.” His voice was quieter now, more genuine. “I’ll stop by later. But only ‘cause you’re so convincing.”
Sylvia let out a small breath, some of her tension easing. “Good. Sorry, I just….” She chuckled, her smile brief. “You’re my guard dog, not my guinea pig—remember? I don’t need you testing my radiation tonic under actual fallout.”
Finn’s grin returned, crooked but faintly fond. “Gotcha.”
She gave him a last nod before turning back toward the sky. The weight in her satchel had disappeared, but the ache in her shoulders remained as she flew toward home. The storm’s flashes of light looked closer now, sharper, and the distant rumble of thunder vibrated through the air.
As Sylvia landed outside her shop, the exhaustion hit her all at once, but a steady determination held her upright. Her deliveries were done, her friends prepared. Now, it was time to fortify herself.
She stepped inside, the familiar scent of her workspace grounding her. “I’m back!” she called to Oswald, shrugging off her satchel and flipping her sign to Open.
As the storm churned closer, Sylvia looked to her shelves, full to overflowing with bottles of radiation tonic in every shape and size. Her resolve remained unshaken. This was her calling—her own way of weathering any tempest.
Chapter Text
Sylvia flipped the sign to Closed with a sharp, deliberate motion, her gaze lingering on the street as if she could will Finn to appear. The air inside the shop was thick, weighed down by the storm that was creeping closer. She had sold every one of her radiation tonics, repeating the same warning to each customer: Stay indoors. Yet Sylvia’s gaze snagged on the window, the darkening sky poised like a tidal wave about to crash. A thread dangled from her glove, and her fingers found it, twisting it in restless loops until it snapped. Her footsteps echoed in the quiet shop as she circled the cauldrons, her pacing tightening with every pass.
“Sylvia, worrying is fruitless.” Oswald’s voice floated from the sales counter, his feathers puffing slightly with disapproval.
“I know! Why do you think I’m trying to stay busy?” she said, the advance of the storm pressed against her ribs like a slow, tightening vise. She couldn’t stop glancing at the window, where the clouds churned like an avalanche in slow motion, silent and unstoppable.
“Well, y—hoot!” Oswald exclaimed, cutting himself off as the doorbell jangled. Finn sauntered in, balancing a briefcase in one hand and bags stuffed with groceries in the other, his smirk widening when he caught sight of Sylvia pacing like a caged animal by the workbench.
“Finally.” Sylvia’s voice came out sharper than intended, but the tight coil of relief unwinding in her chest was impossible to suppress. Her shoulders sagged just slightly as Finn’s familiar, self-assured grin answered her.
Finn shrugged, brushing her concern off with a careless flick of his hand as he set the bags on the counter. “Hey, relax, Teach. Everything turned out fine, didn’t it? Had to grab a few things for dinner—priorities. Can't rely on you to have anything worth eatin'.”
Sylvia’s brow furrowed, her lips pressed tight. “You’re cutting it pretty close.” Her eyes flicked back to the window, where dark clouds roiled as if answering her anxiety.
Finn was clearly more interested in the bags of ingredients than in the gathering chaos outside. “Worryin’ doesn’t actually do anything,” he said, his tone light. “Just stress for no reason.”
Oswald narrowed his eyes at Finn, feathers ruffling. He shifted his gaze back to Sylvia and raised his brows pointedly.
“Then don’t make me worry. How about that?” Sylvia snapped, her shoulders stiff as she crossed to the counter.
Finn met her with a once-over, his usual bravado dimming for a heartbeat as he caught the tension in her frame. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice low, almost careful. Then, with a spark of his usual mischief creeping back, he added, “Good thing I’ve got a way to take your mind off it.”
With an exaggerated flourish, he snapped open his briefcase, revealing rows of meticulously arranged Itsy Bitsy Kaiju cards. “See? Always thinkin’ ahead.”
Sylvia blinked, her lips twitching into a smile despite herself. “Seriously? Only you would bring a card game to a storm shelter.”
Finn’s grin stretched wider as he closed the case with a click. “Hey, if you’re gonna hole up, might as well make it fun. Besides, can’t have my whole collection blowin’ away.”
A deep, resonant rumble of thunder, the kind that shook the shop floor beneath their feet, followed the sudden flash of white light outside. The first heavy drops of rain slammed against the windows with an intensity that blocked out the view of the street beyond. Sylvia and Finn exchanged a glance, both silently acknowledging the storm’s raw power.
Finn was the first to break the silence. “Alright,” he said flippantly, rolling his shoulders. “So it was a little close.”
Sylvia exhaled a trembling breath, her fingers wringing each other as she stared into the storm’s chaotic swirl. The rain blurred the street into smudged shadows, its fury both unnerving and strangely hypnotic. For a moment, the strength of it stilled her, her burdens dwarfed by the relentless roar of the elements. The clouds above crackled with energy, lightning flashing jagged veins through the sky. Sporadic cascades of sparks rose where the rain hit the cobblestones, like flint striking steel.
Her stillness lasted only a moment before a sharp pop sounded, and a raindrop splashed against the window in front of Sylvia with such force that it released a burst of fire and colored smoke, swirling in vibrant hues.
Sylvia jumped back, her heart racing, and she laughed nervously. “Okay, that’s enough for me.” Her gaze shifted to Finn, a playful edge creeping back into her voice. “Game time. You ready to lose?”
Finn’s grin spread wider as he stood straighter, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Them’s fightin’ words, Teach. Let’s see if you can back ’em up.”
They moved to the sales counter, and Sylvia grabbed a deck, shuffling the cards overhand with caution. Finn offered a slow clap, and they dove into the game, the banter light and playful.
“Are you always this serious about Itsy Bitsy Kaiju?” Finn goaded, sliding a card into play with exaggerated care.
Sylvia’s eyes narrowed in mock concentration, her lips curling into a smile. “Only when I’m winning.” She flicked her card onto the board with a flourish, her competitive streak fully awakened. She wasn’t winning—not yet, anyway.
The storm raged on, but inside, the world had shrunk to the small battleground on the countertop. Sylvia was losing herself in the rules of the game, each turn drawing her deeper into the contest. The rain continued to fall, drops popping and sizzling on the street outside, its tumultuous energy oddly soothing from the safety of the shop.
The next match started faster, cards slipping back and forth across the counter, but as the minutes passed, their banter slowed. Sylvia, eyes focused on the board but her thoughts clearly elsewhere, finally broke the comfortable quiet.
“So, have you been following your own advice and taking it easy after the seminar?” she asked, her voice light but with a genuine curiosity behind it.
Finn paused mid-shuffle, glancing up with a quick grin. “Takin' it easy? Hardly. Since yesterday, I’ve had people practically lining up to ask me to mediate deals or look over contracts. Have to beat them back with a stick.” He leaned back from the counter with a cocky, almost bemused air. “Seems like I might’ve stumbled into somethin' big.”
Sylvia’s eyebrows shot up in excitement, her gaze snapping to his. “Really? Finn, that’s awesome! That sounds really promising.”
“Yeah, seems that way,” he replied with a small shrug, but his eyes were bright. “I might even switch gears—move from life coaching into this weird consulting-slash-advocacy thing. It’s a little more my speed. People actually want me to handle their business problems. Who knew?”
“Much more helpful than causing them.” Sylvia leaned in slightly, her voice teasing but tinged with genuine approval. “Bet it’ll be lucrative, too.”
Finn gave a short, amused laugh. “Oh, it will be. I’ll make sure of it.”
A quiet chuckle passed between them. Sylvia’s smile softened, her eyes lingering on Finn a moment longer than before. Then, with a playful tilt of her head, she remarked, “You know, you reflect really well on me as your mentor.”
Finn froze for a moment at the compliment before pulling at his tie. “Ah, well… thanks. Wouldn’t’ve gotten here without your help.”
Sylvia lifted her chin, her mouth curling into an almost wistful smile. “I like to think I played my part.” She paused, her fingers tracing the edges of the cards in her hand, a dramatic sigh escaping her. “Though I’m starting to think I’ve taught you just about everything I can.”
Finn looked up at her, a curious frown crossing his face. “What, like… you’re out of lessons?”
“At this point, you’ve seen more of my business model than even I’ve consciously thought about.” Her smile widened as she leaned forward. “Maybe it’s time to push you out of the nest. Pretty sure you can fly by now.”
He snorted at that, though the humor didn’t fully reach his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably, caught between his usual swagger and the weight of her praise. “Yeah, well, it’s nice to know I’m doin’ alright.” He let out a breath, trying to mask the brief flicker of vulnerability with another smirk. “But you won’t get rid of me that easy, Teach.”
Sylvia laughed. “I hope not!” Her lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Although,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “now that I’ve upheld my end of this whole arrangement, there’s no ‘Teach’ anymore, is there? You might actually have to use my real name.”
Finn’s smirk widened into something deliberately cocky. “Whatever you say, Minnow,” he replied without hesitation, the nickname dripping with familiarity.
Sylvia groaned, throwing her hands up. “There’s no winning with you!”
“Not a chance,” Finn said, shuffling the cards with the practiced ease of someone who’d clearly done so too many times.
Sylvia narrowed her eyes at him, a wry grin forming as she rested her chin on her hand. “I guess I have to get used to the idea of sharing my guard dog. All those people lining up for you to handle their business. Just don’t forget where you started, alright?”
Finn stilled for half a beat, the remark sending a ripple through his composure, before chuckling low in his throat. “That’ll be hard to forget.” He leaned forward slightly, his grin softening at the edges. “Besides, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about. Ya got me in the palm of your hand.”
Sylvia’s face flushed, and she resisted the impulse to avert her gaze, forcing a scoff instead. “That’s a pretty bold claim.”
Finn regarded her incredulously, but before she could question it, he slapped a card down with a dramatic flair. “Anyway, game over.”
Sylvia stared at the board in dismay. “Oh, come on. One devastating blow after another? At least let me win once before I’m forced into retirement.”
Finn tilted back in his chair, his grin as smug as ever. “Maybe next time, Minnow. If you’re lucky.”
Sylvia let her head drop onto her arms with a groan. “You’re the worst,” she mumbled, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
“Can’t let you forget it,” Finn quipped, his tone light but his gaze lingering just a moment longer than usual. “You gettin’ hungry yet?”
Finn unpacked the bags onto the kitchen counter, each ingredient adding to an increasingly impressive array: fresh noodles, vibrant green scallions, eggs so perfect they seemed enchanted, and a savory broth base. Sylvia leaned over the counter, watching with interest as Finn methodically organized the items.
“Real ramen, huh?” she asked, her eyebrows raising skeptically. “I only make the kind that comes in a square brick with a packet of bright orange powder.”
Finn glanced up, smirking as he pushed his rolled sleeves farther up. “C’mon, Minnow. Gimme some credit. This ain’t just instant noodles in hot water. We’re makin’ the real deal here, as you call it.”
“We’re making it?” Sylvia took a small step back. “Since when did I sign up for sous-chef duty?”
“Since you invited me in,” Finn shot back, shoving a cutting board toward her. “Vampire rules.”
“Vampire rules? Cooking’s got nothing to do with vampires!”
Finn shrugged. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, according to vampire rules, the sous-chef is in charge of salt.”
He turned to look at her sidelong. “Oh, yeah?”
“Absolutely,” Sylvia replied, crossing her arms and leveling him with a mock-serious look. “I won’t have you going rogue and ruining this masterpiece.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, you win this one. Salt’s all yours. But don’t think that gives you free rein to ruin it either.”
“Please,” she said, grabbing the small dish of salt and holding it up like a trophy. “This is a sacred duty. I’ll take it seriously.”
As Finn seared the pork belly, its edges caramelizing to a perfect golden brown, Sylvia fell into the flow of each task. Her hands moved with purpose as she chopped scallions, the steady slice of her knife matching the sizzle of the pan on the stove. They worked side by side, the small kitchen forcing them into a constant dance around each other.
“Keep up, Minnow,” Finn teased as he expertly shelled the hard-boiled eggs. “Can’t have you slowin’ down production.”
“I’m doing just fine, thanks,” she said, sprinkling the last of the scallions into a bowl with a twirl of her wrist. “Besides, I’m not the one who’ll have to answer for a mediocre meal. I’m only a sous-chef.”
He snorted.
When the broth bubbled gently on the stove, its rich aroma filling the shop, Finn surveyed their progress with obvious satisfaction. “See? Nothin’ to it. Gotta keep my mentor well-fed.”
Sylvia smiled, but Finn’s words seemed to give him pause. He turned his focus back to the simmering pot, adding, “Then again, if you’re wrigglin’ outta that role, maybe I don’t need to feed you after all.”
“Now, now, no need for that.” Her answering expression was sardonic. “I’ll just stay on as your benevolent mentor until right after dinner.”
“This is exactly the kinda deal I’d tell a client not to take,” Finn observed. “But sure.”
Sylvia let out an exaggerated huff before it turned into a laugh. As Finn tended to the broth, her gaze lingered, the corners of her mouth softening with quiet amusement and something fond.
“Alright, Minnow,” he said, his tone light but his expression focused. “Moment of truth. Ready?”
“Depends,” she replied, jutting her chin in mock defiance. “Did I nail the salt?”
Finn grinned, handing her a spoon. “Only one way to find out.”
As the last bite of ramen disappeared from Sylvia’s bowl, she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. Finn began stacking their dishes, carrying them to the sink. When he turned back to grab the glasses, his smirk was already in place.
“Not bad for a first-timer,” he remarked. “But we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on the salt, huh?”
Sylvia followed him to the counter. “You can salt away to your heart’s content—after I’ve got my own bowl.”
Finn chuckled, shaking his head. “A winnin’ compromise, Minnow. You sure you don’t have anything left to teach me?”
She gave him a dramatic eye roll, but the easy banter carried through the cleanup. The kitchen grew quieter, the comfort of the meal settling into a comfortable lull. Sylvia, elbows deep in sudsy water, broke the silence with a sudden thought.
“Oh!” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Finn, who was drying a cutting board. “I almost forgot. Robin stopped by the shop again this morning.”
Finn’s hands stilled briefly before resuming their motion, his attention sharpening in an instant. “Yeah?” His tone was neutral, but his shoulders squared.
“Yeah,” she said, scrubbing at a stubborn pot. “He made me an offer.”
Finn placed the cutting board in the drying rack, shaking the water off his hands before turning to look at her. “What kinda offer?”
Sylvia hesitated, her brows knitting as she relived the conversation. “He said if I throw the competition, he’d 'go easy' on me. He’d give me the prize money to pay off my debt and make it look like I almost beat him. Said it’d be a win for both of us.”
Finn’s mouth twitched, but the reaction wasn’t a smile. He leaned a hip against the counter, arms crossed. “What’d you say?”
She sighed, frustration creeping into her voice as she turned around. “What do you think? I told him no, obviously. The nerve of that guy! Like I’m just going to roll over because he’s Rafta’s golden boy. He made it sound like he was doing me some big favor, but really, he’s just trying to protect himself.”
Finn tilted his head slightly, studying her as she went on, her gestures growing animated. “He doesn’t care whether or not it's good for me. He just wants to come out looking like the good guy. Classic Robin, right? The magnanimous champion.”
Finn’s voice was calm but deliberate. “He wouldn’t make an offer like that unless he was worried about losing.”
Sylvia blinked, surprised. “You think so?”
“Think about it,” Finn said. “If he was sure he had it in the bag, he wouldn’t need to make deals. He’s hedging his bets. You’ve got him spooked.”
Sylvia shook her head, her frustration giving way to disappointment. “Even if that’s the case, it’s still so insulting. Like my entire business, my hard work—it’s all just a game to him." Her voice sharpened, carrying a ragged edge she didn’t quite mean to reveal. "And the way he said it, like he was so sure I’d jump at the chance.”
Finn snorted, his gaze hardening. “It’s a classic power move. Keep you boxed in, make it look like you’re playin’ along, even if you’re not. You came outta nowhere, and a guy like that hates not bein’ in control on his home turf.”
“But what bothers me most is that I used to admire him, you know? He was this huge inspiration for me back in college. Now, he feels like… I don’t know. Like a snake oil salesman, only better dressed.”
Finn’s lips curved into a slow, wry smirk. “Guess meetin’ your heroes ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Understatement of the year,” she muttered, tossing the dish towel onto the counter with more force than necessary. Her frustration hung heavy in the air, but Finn’s observation kept it from tipping over into outright anger. Instead, she leaned against the sink, letting out a long breath. “Anyway. Thanks for letting me vent.”
Sylvia smiled at him before she shook her head and turned toward a cabinet. “Enough of that. I’m making hot chocolate. It’s a perfect stormy night for it.”
Sylvia poured the hot chocolate into two mugs shaped like little cauldrons, steam curling lazily from the tops. She set them down on the counter, adding a final pinch of cocoa dust to each. “Simple,” she said with satisfaction, “but perfectly balanced.”
Finn watched with a bemused grin. “Cute mugs.”
Sylvia narrowed her eyes in mock indignation, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her with an upward twitch. “Cute? These are iconic. Legendary.” She handed him a mug, then tapped her own. “And the contents? Masterfully crafted. The perfect ratio of milk to cocoa—and a splash of something stronger to really help warm us up.”
Finn took a sip, raising the mug faintly in approval. “Puttin’ that degree to good use.”
Sylvia hopped up onto the countertop, sitting on the edge with her mug cradled in both hands. She faced the window, where the tempo of the storm outside had decreased, droplets sparking and popping with a little less urgency.
The sound of the rain drumming against the glass filled the hush. Finn leaned back against the counter beside her, shoulder brushing hers. She shifted, but not away; the contact was almost nothing, yet it sent a flicker up her spine, grounding her against the storm’s distant fury. Sylvia stared at the window, the blurred world beyond sparking faintly with fading flashes of lightning. Goosebumps rose along her arms, a strange echo of the storm’s tension, as though the air itself hesitated, unsure whether to release its charge.
“What’s it like?” Sylvia asked, her voice quiet, curiosity threading through the stillness. “The storm, I mean.” She glanced at Finn. “You know, with the whole… electroreception?”
Finn smirked, his thumb idly tracing the lip of his mug. “Not as dramatic as you’re imagining. Just a kinda buzzin’ in the background. Lightning’s all up in the clouds, mostly, and I ain’t exactly a lightning rod.” He paused, looking at her sidelong. “Though I’d still recommend keepin’ your distance. Can’t be too careful.”
Sylvia huffed a laugh, the sound overly soft. Feeling slightly buzzed herself from the hot chocolate—and maybe the storm, or the company—her gaze drifted to Finn’s collar. “Speaking of natural disasters,” she teased, nodding toward his untied bowtie, “that thing’s still a total wreck.”
Finn’s eyes gleamed with lazy amusement as he set his mug down. “Oh yeah? Think you can do better?” He pushed off the counter and turned to face her fully, his hands resting on the countertop on either side of her. His voice dropped low with challenge. “Go ahead. Tie it for me.”
Sylvia froze, the breath she’d drawn caught somewhere between her chest and throat. The rough brush of his sleeve grazed her arm, setting her pulse hammering in a restless cadence that drowned out the muffled roar of the weather. Finn’s closeness stole her focus, the heat of him, the stillness in his frame, the weight of his gaze. Words wavered on her tongue, tangling before they could take shape, leaving her adrift in a silence thickened by the electricity between them.
“I—uh—” Her cheeks flushed as she fumbled for words, adjusting her grip on the mug, drawing it closer to her chest.
Finn’s smirk softened slightly, his stare searching hers as though giving her every opportunity to pull away. But when she didn’t move, he leaned in, slow and deliberate, testing the waters. The scent of the sea lingered faintly on him, mingling with the rich smell of chocolate wafting up from between her hands.
And then his lips brushed hers.
The kiss began slowly, tentatively, as though each breath carried an unspoken question. Sylvia’s fingers tightened on the mug before setting it aside. When she leaned into him, her lips meeting his with quiet conviction, the answer was evident. Finn’s arms shifted, bracing against the counter more firmly as he deepened the kiss, careful but no less certain.
When he started to straighten, breaking away, Sylvia’s hands shot up and caught the ends of his tie. Her grip was light but insistent as she tugged him back toward her. Finn stilled, startled for a mere instant before their lips met once more, the kiss resuming with an intensity that muted the sounds of the tempest outside, reducing it to nothing more than white noise.
This time, when they pulled apart, the silence between them stretched, thick with emotion and uncertainties neither seemed prepared to voice. Finn lingered close, his forehead nearly touching hers. His focus narrowed on her, silent and consuming, and Sylvia felt the awareness settle over her skin like static.
When he spoke, eventually, his voice was rougher than usual, like he wasn’t entirely steady.
“You’ve got some nerve, Minnow.”
Sylvia blinked, heat rushing back to her cheeks. “Me?” She twitched the ends of his tie between her fingers. “You’re the one who—” She stopped, realizing how breathless she sounded, and let out a nervous laugh instead. Her hands fell away from the bowtie slowly, skimming against his chest as they did.
Finn chuckled low, the sound settling between them. “Guess we’re not exactly playin’ it safe, huh?”
“Yeah,” she said on an exhale. Turned out, whatever lines formed between them were about as sturdy as wet parchment. And Sylvia wasn't terribly interested in piecing the soggy borders back together.
She managed a grin, though her heart still pounded. “Good thing you’re not my student anymore, or I’d have to worry about whether I’ve abused my position of power over you.”
Finn eased to the side just enough to grab his mug again before leaning back against the counter, propped up on his elbows. A familiar smirk slid back into place, though his gaze still held that same heat, banked and smoldering. “Careful talkin’ like that. You could give a guy ideas.”
Sylvia laughed softly as she picked up her mug as well. The storm outside had settled into a quiet patter, its wild energy spent, leaving only the steady beat of rain against the windows and a faint buzzing in the air.
Sylvia worked steadily, the rhythmic drumming of rain on the roof mingling with the soft clink of glass and the faint bubbling of the cauldrons. She leaned over her workbench, gloved hands deftly pouring a shimmering green liquid into a narrow bottle. Her movements were precise, practiced, but her mind wandered—enough that now and then her fingers hovered just a fraction too long over a vial, as if waiting for her thoughts to catch up to the present.
Across the room, Finn lounged in the armchair he’d dragged over to the window, one arm draped lazily over the side, the other supporting his chin as he stared at the rain. His gaze was distant but alert, shifting slightly as droplets caught faint reflections of the lamplight outside.
Sylvia risked a glance at him as she sealed another bottle, her fingers hesitating over the cork. He looked oddly at ease, his usual restless energy muted by the cozy glow of the room and the soft rhythm of the storm. For all his sharp edges, there was something disarming about seeing him this quiet, almost thoughtful.
Her gaze lingered too long. When Finn’s eyes flicked toward her, she quickly dropped her attention back to her work, the faintest heat rushing to her cheeks. She tightened the cork unnecessarily hard and set the bottle down with a clink.
“Always work this late?” His voice broke the silence, soft enough not to disturb the calm.
Sylvia kept her gaze down, focused on reaching for the next bottle. “Not always,” she replied lightly. “But when I’ve got batches ready, I like to get them done before I go to bed. Otherwise, they pile up.” Her hands moved instinctively, steadying the vial before pouring in a measured stream. “It’s not like I can bottle these in my sleep.”
Finn hummed, a low sound that vibrated in the quiet. “You ever stop? Feels like you’re always scurrying around, doin’ something.”
She grinned faintly, cradling the next vial as though it needed convincing. “Says the guy scheming up seminars and business ventures left and right.”
His chuckle was quiet but rich. “Touché.”
For a while, they both fell back into the sounds of the storm and the steady pace of her work. Her hands moved with practiced ease: glass gliding smoothly, corks twisting into place, and stray bottles finding their rightful spots without hesitation. Yet she continually found her fingers moving just a little slower, as though the rhythm wasn’t quite as automatic tonight. She shook out her hands loosely at the wrists, trying to restore her focus.
Finn’s voice broke the silence again, drawing her out. “Looks like it’s just regular rain now,” he said, nodding toward the window.
Sylvia paused mid-twist, glancing out at the softened storm. The droplets had turned into a shower instead of sheeting down, no longer bright with flashes of light or arcane discharge. She nodded, resuming her work. “That’s the idea. The runoff’s supposed to wash the irradiated stuff away.” She capped the vial with a firm press. “Not that I’d risk going outside just yet, personally.”
Finn leaned back in the armchair, stretching his legs out in front of him with exaggerated nonchalance. “Good thing I’ve got a prime spot, then.” He shifted his weight experimentally, the creak of wood loud enough to lay bare his skepticism. “This chair’s still not up to snuff, though.”
Sylvia turned, brow lifting in mock offense. “Excuse me? That chair’s been my loyal companion for over a month, and I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.” She set the last bottle down. “A few days ago, you’d have been lucky to get a nice patch of floor.”
His brows shot up, an exaggerated look of horror overtaking his face. “What kinda host threatens her guest with cold hardwood?”
“The kind who’s barely keeping her head above water,” she retorted, though her tone was playful. “But luckily for you, I’ve recently acquired a bed from a generous benefactor, so enjoy the castoff.”
Finn settled back into the chair, his smirk intact but faintly tempered. “Guess I’ll have to make it work.”
Sylvia huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she gathered the bottled potions, the clink of glass punctuating her steps toward the shelves. She worked quietly, her hands methodical as she arranged them by size and label. Finn watched her for a while, his head tilted slightly, before shifting his attention back to the weather.
When she turned back, the rain’s soft patter filled the room, stretching the silence before Sylvia finally asked, “You’re actually going to be okay there, right?”
He glanced over. “Think I’ll survive.”
Her lips twitched into a smile, the sound of his voice sinking deeper than it had any right to. She nodded as she brushed her gloves off on her apron. “Good. Try not to break it,” she murmured, her tone light as she turned.
Sylvia rolled her shoulders as she stepped into the back room, the door clicking shut behind her. The air was cool and quiet compared to the main shop. She didn’t bother with the light; the faint glow from under the door was enough to see by. She sank onto the edge of the mattress with a sigh, tugging off her gloves and setting them on the nearby table.
Her fingers curled idly, feeling the faint ridges where the seams of her gloves had pressed into her skin. She flexed them absently, her mind still flickering with images of corked bottles, rain-streaked glass, and a certain infuriatingly comfortable figure now occupying her favorite old chair.
With a soft groan, Sylvia tipped backward onto the cot, her eyes catching the plush centipus. She reached for it without thinking, the soft, tentacled body slipping easily into her arms. The comforting weight relieved her somewhat, though her thoughts remained tangled—unraveling slowly in the back of her mind like a spool of thread she couldn’t quite stop pulling at.
As she turned onto her side, the plush cradled against her chest, her mind replayed the kiss—his caution, the way his voice had shifted, the pull of his presence in the room. She briefly wondered how long it would take her to fall asleep with her thoughts flitting by faster than she could hold on to them.
Still, her body was heavy, worn down by the long day and its many twists and turns. Before she could finish worrying about her restless mind, sleep crept in quietly, like the tail end of the storm. Her breathing slowed and her fingers relaxed their hold, letting go of the mental noise.
Chapter Text
A rhythmic patter drew Sylvia from the depths of sleep. Raindrops danced against the shop’s windows, their soft percussion blending with the faint, earthy aroma of herbs and alchemical reagents. The blanket clung to her like a second skin, pinning her in dreams she couldn't quite remember. Her fingers curling around its edges and the sluggish pull of sleep clung to her limbs. When she finally stretched, her joints creaked in protest, and the cold bite of the wooden floor underfoot promised no mercy to her sleepy resolve.
A faint rustling sound broke the stillness—like parchment brushing against parchment. Frowning, she rubbed her eyes and padded barefoot across the wooden floor, weaving past the neatly arranged shelves. The soft gray light filtering through the windows caught on rows of potion bottles, refracting into faint rainbows that danced across the walls.
In the far corner of the room, Oswald perched on a stack of crates. Slightly ruffled feathers and a hunched posture marked him as he bent over a worn tome. The book’s cracked spine and faded lettering suggested it had seen more centuries than Sylvia cared to imagine. He didn’t stir as she approached, but his head tilted slightly in acknowledgment.
A twinge of guilt curled through her chest. She hadn’t even noticed when he’d left the front room last night. Finn’s presence had filled the whole shop, leaving her less aware of the quiet gaps she was usually so quick to catch.
“Morning, Uncle,” she said, her voice still rough from sleep. She tried for breezy but landed closer to awkward. “Were you back here all night?”
“I was,” Oswald replied without meeting her gaze, his tone dry as he turned a page between two talons with deliberate precision. “In the back. Reading. Not my job to chaperone.”
Sylvia folded her arms, her brows knitting. “Okay, no need for that tone.”
Oswald glanced up, one keen eye catching the light. “What tone?”
“That tone.” Sylvia gestured sharply. “The judgy one. I know it when I hear it.”
A faint flicker of humor crossed Oswald’s otherwise stern expression as he fluffed his feathers. “Let’s call it ‘observational.’”
Sylvia groaned, dragging a hand through her sleep-mussed hair. “Look, he stayed because of the storm, alright? I wasn’t going to toss him out into a toxic flood.”
Oswald’s head tilted, the feathers along his neck ruffling as his eyes fixed on her with a quiet intensity. The silence that followed was deliberate, his unblinking gaze holding her in place like a tether.
Sylvia resisted the urge to adjust her stance, her arms tightening reflexively across her chest as heat prickled the back of her neck. “You don’t have to like him. But maybe you could at least give him some credit. He does a lot that he doesn’t have to.”
Oswald considered her words before his tone softened, almost imperceptibly. “I’ll grant you that much.”
Sylvia studied him for a moment longer, noting the subtle way his feathers fluffed and then settled—a telltale sign of his discomfort. She sighed, deciding not to push him further.
“Well, that’s about the best I’m going to get out of you, isn’t it?” she said, her voice light with a note of fond exasperation.
Oswald clicked his beak, a sound that might have been a retort, but he only let out a low hoot and turned away, muttering under his breath. Sylvia smiled faintly as she turned toward the door leading to the shop’s front room.
She cracked it open, leaning just far enough to peer out. Finn sprawled in the armchair like a misplaced shipwreck, a sight both ridiculous and strangely endearing. One leg hung lazily over an armrest while the other stretched out on the floor. His tail draped over the opposite arm, twitching slightly, as if he were incapable of remaining still even in sleep.
Sylvia’s eyes lingered despite herself; his usual sharp-edged presence seemed dulled, replaced by something softer. Quieter. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—how relaxed he looked, or how natural his presence seemed in her space.
A quiet hoot from behind startled her. She turned to find Oswald watching her, his expression blank but the glint in his eye unambiguously knowing.
Sylvia flushed, her smile turning sheepish. “Oh, shut it. And get out of here. I need to get changed.”
Oswald hopped down from the crate with an exaggerated flap of his wings, disappearing into the rafters of the front room.
By the time Sylvia emerged, dressed and feeling halfway presentable, Finn was stirring. He grumbled as he shifted in the chair, one arm stretching above his head while the other rubbed his face.
“Hey,” she said, tapping his shoulder lightly. “Wake up.”
He groaned, voice muffled. “Five more minutes, Minnow.”
“You’re not even in a bed,” she pointed out dryly.
Finn cracked one eye open, peering at her blearily. “Coulda fooled me. This chair’s so soft it feels like a dream… a real bad one.” He hauled himself upright with a dramatic stretch, his back popping audibly. Sylvia winced in sympathy.
“And I thought you were supposed to be tough,” she teased, crossing her arms and tilting her head.
“Still got a spine to think about,” Finn quipped, shaking himself off like a great beast stirring from hibernation. Despite his playful tone, Sylvia caught the brief way his hand pressed against his side, testing for soreness.
Her smirk softened almost against her will. “Right, because lounging all night was such a grueling workout.”
“Exactly,” Finn said, snapping his fingers. “You wouldn’t believe the strain this chair puts on the ol’ lumbar. Real endurance test.”
Sylvia barely suppressed a chuckle. “Ever the warrior.”
He shifted his weight, standing straighter now, though his movements still held a trace of grogginess.
Sylvia held both arms out in a vague gesture, cutting through the banter. “Now what? I’ve got work to do, you know.”
“Did you eat yet?” Finn countered seamlessly.
Sylvia hesitated, then admitted, “No.”
“Good,” he said, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll whip us up something. Cooking clears the cobwebs.”
Sylvia huffed a laugh despite herself, trailing him. “Fine. But if you burn anything, that’s strike one.”
Finn glanced over his shoulder, his gaze catching hers for a moment longer than felt casual. “Still on strike one? Guess I’ve got a little room for mistakes.”
The words hung between them, his tone playful, but his eyes seemed to say something else entirely. Sylvia’s stomach gave a small, unwelcome flip. Was she reading too much into the shift in his expression?
She hesitated, her thoughts tangled with curiosity and an edge of tension, before finally following him into the kitchen. Finn rummaged through her cabinets with a familiarity both unsettling and comforting, as though he’d already dug out a space in her world without really stopping to ask.
Sylvia set the table with two mismatched plates, the simple spread a quiet comfort—lemon pancakes Finn had whipped up with surprising resourcefulness, paired with the herbal tea she’d steeped. The mingling scents of citrus and mint enriched the air, wrapping the moment in a sense of durable calm.
Finn leaned back in his chair, one hand draped over the backrest, the other twirling his fork idly. His grin flashed across the table, disarming as ever. “Not bad for a first joint breakfast. Might make a decent duo.”
Sylvia looked skeptical, settling into the chair opposite him. “Duo? You did all the cooking. I just boiled some water.”
“And didn’t nitpick,” he countered smoothly, taking a bite of pancake. His tone turned sly. “That’s teamwork, Minnow. Real progress.”
She huffed an unamused sound, but couldn’t quite suppress the twitch of her lips. The rhythm of their back and forth came as naturally as breathing. For a while, they ate in companionable silence, the quiet clink of silverware blending with the faint hum of the shop’s brewing equipment.
Sylvia’s fork hovered above her plate, the light clink of silver against ceramic faltering as her gaze dropped to the pale surface of her tea. The swirling liquid mirrored the jumble of questions spinning through her mind: the looming competition, the storm’s aftermath, and the half-formed doubts she couldn’t quite shake.
“Finn,” she began.
He looked up instantly, his fork pausing midair as his focus sharpened. “Hmm?”
Sylvia’s fingers traced the rim of her mug, her thumb catching on a tiny crack she hadn’t noticed before. The words stalled in her throat, but Finn’s expectant gaze pressed them forward. Finally, she raised her head, her voice steady but quieter than she intended. “I want to know where we stand.”
Finn lowered his fork deliberately, his expression fading into something more thoughtful. “Where we stand?” he echoed, his voice quieter now. He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the table.
Sylvia nodded, folding her arms across her chest as if to steady herself. “It may not be the most thrilling conversation, but whatever this is… I don’t want to lose focus on the final round because I’m wondering if it’s, I don’t know, something passing or something more. I don’t really have room for any more doubts right now.”
Finn chuckled softly, but the sound lacked its usual bravado. “Fair enough. You really don’t mince words, do you?”
Sylvia stayed silent, her gaze steady, though her grip on her arms tightened.
He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering for a moment before he met her eyes again. “Truth is, I’ve been enjoyin’ this as it is—maybe a little too much. But if you’re lookin’ for something concrete…” He let the sentence trail off, contemplation crossing his face before continuing. “How does bein’ an item sound? Simple enough for ya?”
His casual phrasing seemed at odds with the steady confidence in his gaze. Sylvia's lips parted, then pressed together as she searched his face for some sign of his usual teasing—a smirk, a glint of mischief, a tremor of laughter—but found none. A warmth unfurled in her chest; one that was growing more familiar.
“I think I could work with that,” she said lightly, though the undercurrent in her voice was undeniably pleased.
Finn’s grin softened further, his gaze steady. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not just here for the pancakes, y’know. I like bein’ the guy you can count on. Feels right.”
Sylvia’s pulse stumbled over itself as his words settled on her. There was no grand declaration, no flourish—just a quiet certainty that lingered in the space they shared, weightier than anything she’d expected. She allowed herself a playful smirk to counterbalance the sudden gravity of the moment. “Alright then. If this is a team effort, what do you bring to the table?”
Finn’s laugh broke the tension, rich and unguarded. “This an interview now?”
“I’m serious,” she said, though the humor in her tone softened the assertion. “Kind of. I’ve got a lot riding on the match against Robin.”
He leaned back, feigning deep thought as he counted off on his fingers. “Well, for starters, I’ve got you covered on the food front, keepin’ ya fueled for victory. I’m good at scaring off pests—nothing like these pearly whites to keep trouble in line. And…” He leaned in slightly, his eyes gleaming. “I’ve got a sharp eye for investments, in case you need a boost. That’s a triple threat right there.”
Sylvia shook her head, though she couldn’t suppress a soft laugh. “And no distractions, right? I mean it.”
Finn’s smirk sharpened, though his tone stayed playful. “Distractions? Me? Never. Just the occasional break to keep you at the top of your game.”
She tried to fix him with a stern look, but it faltered under the weight of her smile. The easy harmony of their laughter washed away any lingering nerves, leaving a comfort that descended like an unspoken agreement.
As they rose to clear the table, the quiet rhythm of their shared task felt grounding. Sylvia handed him a plate, her fingers brushing his, and for a fleeting moment, the simplicity of the contact stilled her thoughts.
When Finn eventually turned to leave, Sylvia paused beside him, her hand resting on the doorframe as though to brace herself.
“Heading out already?” she asked, her voice light, but something floated beneath the surface—hesitation, maybe, or reluctance.
“Figured I’d give you some space,” he replied, his grin easy but his tone gentler now. “You’ve got work to do, after all.”
“Oh, so now you’re considerate?”
“Tryin’ it on for size,” he quipped. “But I’ll see you at the Guild later, right?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got a few things to finish first, but I’ll catch up. I want to check on everyone.”
Finn nodded, stepping toward the door. Sylvia’s head drew back slightly as she caught sight of the rain falling outside.
“You realize it’s still raining, right?” she said. “Do you want an umbrella?”
Finn paused, glancing out the window before looking back at her, amusement apparent in his eyes. “Don’t need one.”
“You’re just going to get soaked?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged. “Better soaked than dry, if you’re askin’ me.”
“Really?” Sylvia crossed her arms, half-expecting him to elaborate.
“Really.” Finn relaxed against the doorframe, his smirk softening. “Wet feels normal. Comfy.”
Sylvia blinked, momentarily thrown by his easy candor. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”
“Like I said.” He winked, then added, “And don’t worry, Minnow. Not like I’m gonna melt.”
“I’ll try not to lose sleep over it,” she said dryly.
He turned back toward the door, his hand reaching for the handle, but he paused. Spinning back around, he closed the distance between them with a few easy steps. Sylvia barely had time to react before he leaned in, pressing a quick but deliberate kiss to her lips. It didn’t overstay, but neither was it hurried.
When he pulled back, his grin was in full force. “Could get used to that,” he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful.
“Oh, is that so?” Sylvia asked in light and playful tone.
“Yeah,” he replied easily, his confidence unshaken. “Not a bad way to head out.”
“Well,” she said, “I guess I could get used to it, too.”
Finn chuckled, stepping back toward the door with a short wave. “See you later, Minnow.”
She watched him go, her smirk fading into something softer as the door clicked shut. She stood in the quiet a while longer, the tingle of the kiss still lingering on her lips.
With a deep breath, she pushed off the doorframe and returned to her work. The list of tasks awaiting her attention was long, but a spark of energy carried her through the morning, a small smile tugging at her lips whenever her thoughts wandered.
The Heroes Guild hummed with activity, its usual chaotic energy intensified by the storm’s aftermath. The air smelled of damp stone and singed metal, with a faint magical charge that prickled at Sylvia’s skin even through her raincoat. Lanterns swung gently from the beams, casting uneven light across the hall, where heroes huddled to patch armor, swap stories, and down quick meals.
Sylvia hovered near the entrance, her gloved hands tucked into her coat pockets. Her gaze flicked over the room, catching snippets of conversation and exhaustion etched into every face. A table rattled as a passing hero jostled it, sending a stack of rolled maps scattering across the floor. Sylvia moved to help, crouching to gather the scrolls.
“Thanks, lass,” said the grizzled warrior as she handed him the last roll. His tone was tired, but grateful.
“No problem,” Sylvia replied, her voice soft as she straightened and continued weaving through the crowd. Moments like these reminded her why she’d taken such an active role in helping the Guild. These people were her customers, her friends—people who relied on her work as much as she relied on theirs.
She weaved through the maze of tables and chairs until she reached the heart of the hall, where Baptiste stood like a general in the middle of his war room. His coat, usually immaculate, was damp and wrinkled. His face drawn, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, he still wore the air of someone who refused to let the chaos overwhelm him. Sylvia waited for a lull before stepping closer.
“Baptiste,” she called, drawing his attention.
He turned. “Sylvia. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Sylvia’s eyes caught the slump in Baptiste’s posture, the way his fingers lingered too long at the edge of the table before curling into a fist. His brow furrowed deeply, a shadow cutting across his face despite the lantern glow.
“How’s everyone holding up?” she asked, her voice soft enough to draw him back to the moment.
Baptiste gave a wry laugh, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead. “Oh, you know. Simply another day in paradise,” he said, but weariness threaded through every syllable. “The potions you dropped off? Godsends, truly. Couldn’t have made it through the worst of it without them.”
Sylvia felt a flicker of pride but tamped it down with concern. “I’m glad they helped. What about you? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“Astute observation. But I’m hardly the only one. I’ll rest when this storm is officially behind us.”
“Maybe you should make that sooner rather than later?” she suggested, her tone dipping into something almost scolding.
“I’ll consider it. Once I’ve dealt with the latest batch of heroic recklessness. Did you know a group of teens thought it’d be fun to go storm-chasing?”
Sylvia gasped audibly. “Are they okay?”
“Mostly. Temporary mutations, as far as the medics can tell. Glowing skin, elongated limbs. Nothing permanent, I’m told.” He shrugged, though the motion seemed heavy with exasperation. “Still, it’s one more thing to add to the growing pile of headaches.”
Sylvia opened her mouth to respond, but a familiar voice that carried above the din snagged her attention.
“—and if I catch you pushin’ yourself like that again, I’ll tie you to a chair myself.”
She turned toward the sound, spotting Finn by the job board, finishing up a conversation with a group of heroes. His arms were crossed, his broad frame intimidating, but there was a care in his tone that cut through the threat.
The weather mage he’d been speaking to nodded, looking more chagrined than scared. “I’ll take it easy. Promise.” Her exhaustion was clear in the heavy way she leaned on her staff.
Finn clapped her shoulder. “Good. Now go get some rest before you keel over. No hero points for fallin’ asleep standin’ up.”
The mage managed a faint nod before retreating with her companions. Finn’s gaze flicked across the room, landing on Sylvia. He sauntered toward her, his movements casual but deliberate.
“Hey, Minnow,” Finn greeted, his voice dipping just enough to draw her full attention. He stopped just short of her, his grin stretching as he leaned slightly closer. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
Sylvia leaned forward, a sly smile dancing on her lips. “You caught me. I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to watch you try to look useful.”
Baptiste cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “Finn’s been quite helpful, actually. Though I’d hoped he might make his position here a bit more permanent.” He angled toward Finn, his fatigue seeping into his words. “All the best with your new venture, but some of our heroes greatly benefit from your style of encouragement.”
Finn wore an appraising look, scenting the opportunity in Baptiste's hope. “Guess I could be persuaded. For the right price.”
“Sylvia,” Baptiste said, turning to her with a hint of desperation cracking his typical composure, “perhaps you could convince him to stay on in some capacity. The Heroes Guild would be further indebted to you.”
Sylvia quirked an eyebrow before nodding. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Please do,” Baptiste said, his gaze flickering between them for a moment longer before he stepped back into the bustling crowd to take charge of the mad energy once again.
Sylvia turned to Finn, her expression caught between teasing and exasperation. “And you—maybe tone it down a little? Baptiste’s clearly had a long enough day already.”
Finn chuckled, entirely unbothered. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then, his voice dipped, just for her. “When I get my teeth into something good, Minnow, I make sure folks notice.”
Heat rushed to Sylvia’s cheeks, and she shook her head, though a smile curved her lips. “Right. Then do you want to run some errands with me after I’m done here? Or are you too indispensable now?”
“For you? I’ll make time,” he said. “But don’t take too long, or I’ll start gettin’ antsy.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her grin. “Give me a few minutes.”
As Finn stepped aside, she could feel his gaze linger on her. Her steps carried her across the hall, but her thoughts stayed with him.
By the far wall, Xid perched on a low bench, her guitar mimic balanced across her lap. The sleek, wood-and-bone instrument let out a soft hum as Xid idly strummed a lazy tune. A few adventurers loitered nearby, but their attention drifted as Sylvia approached.
“Well, if it isn’t our little angel of alchemy,” Xid greeted, her cool smirk forming. “You look like you’ve got half a dozen thoughts and no idea where to put them.”
Sylvia snorted, dropping onto the bench beside her. “I’m just checking on you guys. Making sure everyone’s okay.”
“Right,” Xid said, her fingers still strumming. “And ‘everyone’ happens to include a certain shark who’s been circling you?”
Xid leaned back when Sylvia looked surprised, plucking a single chord that rang out like punctuation. “You’ve got that look, Syl. The one people get when someone’s got them spinning. I’ve seen it enough from up on stage. Care to share?”
Sylvia sighed, her cheeks heating. “Fine. Maybe I was hoping to see Finn, too. Happy now?”
Xid’s laughter rang out, light and approving, drawing a few curious glances. “Oh, way happier than I expected. So, what’s the deal? Is it official, or are you gonna do the whole will-they-won’t-they routine?”
Sylvia huffed a laugh, her smile breaking through despite herself. “He’s not exactly subtle about it, so I suppose I don’t need to be, either.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Xid said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “Good for you.”
Sylvia glanced at Xid. “Now, can I hire you to gather some ingredients for me, or are we sticking to gossip?”
Xid gave a mock bow, turning theatrical. “For you? Consider it done. But you’re paying me in coin and details.”
Sylvia laughed. “Deal.”
The market thrummed with life after the rain, a vibrant chaos of colorful stalls, haggling voices, and the mingling aromas of spices, herbs, and roasted street food. Sylvia slipped through the market like a current navigating rocks, her gloved fingers brushing the frills of an iridescent mushroom cap. Its slick surface glimmered as if coated in dew, catching the light with a subtle, opalescent shimmer. She leaned closer, inhaling the peppery tang before flipping a coin onto the vendor’s counter.
Finn had been strolling alongside her, his imposing presence drawing glances from vendors and shoppers alike. Now he leaned on a nearby post, examining his rings idly.
“This doesn’t really feel like helpin’,” Finn muttered, watching her step away from haggling with another vendor.
Sylvia smirked, not looking up. “Sure it is. You’re my secret weapon. No one’s going to argue when I’ve got you glowering over my shoulder.”
Finn snorted. “Glowering? I’m just standin’ here.”
“Exactly.”
Finn opened his mouth to retort, but his attention snapped forward and his stance shifted. Sylvia followed his gaze, her stomach sinking.
Even before Robin stepped into view, the current of the market shifted in advance of him—a tightening, a pulling inward, like a lively gust suddenly caught in sails designed to catch the wind. The alchemist was as polished as ever, his cane striking the cobblestones with unnervingly precise clicks. Mae perched on his shoulder, half-lidded eyes narrowing as they landed on Sylvia.
“Well, well,” Robin said, his voice carrying just enough allure to sound like an amicable greeting. “Sylvia. Fancy meeting you here. You’re always so hands-on, aren’t you? That personal touch is so… quaint.”
Sylvia turned, her smile polite but guarded. “Robin. Here to browse, or are you just looking for adulation today?”
Robin’s lips curved upward slowly, deliberate and uncannily perfect, like a craftsman admiring his own work. But the way Mae’s eyes fixed on Sylvia—sharp and unblinking—felt more like the glint of a dagger poised above its sheath.
“Merely ensuring the market is thriving despite recent disruptions. Someone in my position has to stay visible, you understand. A steady presence reassures the populace.”
Finn snorted audibly. Robin’s gaze flicked to him, assessing with quick precision.
“And Boss Finn,” Robin said. He delivered his words alongside an indulgent nod, his tone dripping with polite enthusiasm. “An unexpected choice of companion. Though I suppose it suits your penchant for the unorthodox, Sylvia.”
Sylvia’s brow furrowed, her tone cooling. “Finn’s been an enormous help.”
“Ah, yes, a veritable pillar of support,” Robin mused, tapping his cane lightly against the cobblestones before returning his attention to Finn. “Though one wonders if a reputation such as yours might… complicate things. People are quick to talk. And talk of scandal—real or imagined—has a way of sticking.”
Finn’s toothy smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “Sounds like you might not be listening hard enough. Folks that yammer usually got somethin’ they’re trying to drown out.”
Robin chuckled, genial and pointed. “Indeed. I aim only to offer Rafta’s little rising star here the benefit of some foresight. Speaking of which, I do hope you haven’t given up preparing for the competition, Sylvia. It’s always a shame when hard work goes unrewarded. Then again…” He tilted his head, Mae’s tail curling in tandem, “a prudent exit can still carry its rewards, provided one knows the right people.”
Sylvia’s jaw tightened. “I don’t take shortcuts, Robin.”
"Oh, I don’t doubt your resolve," Robin said, his smile sharp enough to cut glass. His thumb brushed the handle of his cane in a leisurely, idle circle—then pointedly stilled as he swept Finn with another swift look of appraisal. His eyes slid back to Sylvia, gleaming with false sympathy. "Just remember, Sylvia: perception is a curious thing. Even a flawless potion can be rejected if the audience comes to believe the brewer’s hands were dirty."
Out of the corner of her eye, Sylvia caught it—the flicker of tension that hardened Finn’s posture, a brief and biological manifestation of danger before he forced it back down. Robin had seen it too; that was the point. He got what he wanted whether there was spectacle or silence in response.
Heat clawed up under Sylvia’s skin. It wasn’t embarrassment lighting her up; it was fury, fierce and clean. Outrage that Robin could cast his needling judgments so easily. And she wouldn't let it pass, wouldn't let Robin's remark go by unchallenged. She knew the rules of the game: stay pleasant, stay unruffled. There were always eyes on Robin. But she could get away with playing in his arena more easily than Finn.
Summoning a sugar-sweet smile onto her face, Sylvia’s brows knit together. “Is that why you’re so polished all the time? Have to make sure no one sees the smudges underneath?”
Robin’s smile thinned. A small, cold satisfaction curled Sylvia's lips at the sight. His gaze lingered briefly on her before he tipped his hat in farewell. “Do take care, Sylvia. I’ll see you in a few days.”
As Robin strode past, the hum of the market stuttered. A vendor paused mid-haggle, their hands frozen over a basket of herbs, while a child’s laughter tapered into an awkward giggle. Heads turned, and whispers passed through the crowd, quiet but insistent, as though drawn by an unseen force.
Sylvia watched him disappear into the throng, Mae’s persistent stare sharp as a pinprick against her skin. The market seemed to hold its breath for a moment longer, then exhaled, its rhythm returning in a burst of renewed energy. A merchant clanged a small brass bell, calling attention to their wares, and the mingled scents of roasted nuts and fresh herbs surged as a nearby cart opened its shutters.
Finn growled softly under his breath. “Jackass. He’s got somethin’ cookin’, I can feel it.”
Sylvia nodded, her own frustration simmering. She forced her feet to move, rejoining the noisy tide. Life in the market carried on, but the air seemed heavier, the shadow Robin cast looming just out of sight.
Finn’s tail flicked, a short, tense lash that scuffed the cobblestones. His nostrils flared as if catching a scent. “And that lizard of his,” he muttered, his voice dipping low enough to make Sylvia lean closer. “When she came near, it wasn’t just her pulse. It hit like—” He paused, his teeth clicking together thoughtfully. “Like feelin’ fangs, but not quite gettin’ bit.” His gaze darkened. “She’s got an aura, and she knows it.”
Sylvia blinked, unsettled by the description. “Mae? She’s definitely strange. I mean, he picked her up in the Wastelands, after all. Do you think it’s more than that?”
Finn hesitated, his agitation giving way to genuine unease. “Could be. Just watch your back.”
Sylvia exhaled, tugging her gloves tighter. “Noted. Let’s finish up here. I’ve got too much on my plate to lose sleep over any of Robin’s vague threats. I’ll worry when he actually does something.”
The market buzzed defiantly around them as they moved on, the hubbub of bartering voices and the clink of coin a steady backdrop. Sylvia adjusted the strap of her satchel, her thoughts circling back to Robin’s pointed remarks. Finn was looking down, rubbing a thumb over one of his rings.
A nearby vendor shouted to passersby, and somewhere behind them, the sharp clatter of a dropped pot drew startled laughter. Sylvia glanced at Finn, expecting to catch a quip forming on his lips. Instead, his gaze swept restlessly over the stalls, his brow drawn tight.
“You’re awfully quiet.” She nudged his arm lightly, her head tilting in curiosity. “Usually, you’ve made at least two fish puns by now, and threatened a third.”
Finn’s lips twitched with a flicker of amusement, but he didn’t bite. “Just thinkin’.”
Sylvia slowed her pace, her brow furrowing as she studied him. “That’s dangerous. Spill it.”
Finn shrugged, the movement stiff, his shoulders staying high and tight. “That crack he made—about my reputation? Maybe he’s got a point. You’re killin’ it out here, Minnow.” His tail flicked once, the motion quick and restive. “I don’t wanna be some anchor draggin’ you down.”
Sylvia stopped mid-step, a sharp pang of disbelief cutting through her. “Are you serious right now? Finn, if you weren’t here, I’d be bumping into Robin and his creepy lizard alone. And I bet he’d love that.”
“Sure, but…” His gaze darted up briefly, then skated away again. “You’re the star here. Maybe it’s better I back off a bit. Don’t need some washed-up crook crowdin’ your spotlight.”
She stepped closer, her voice sharp but not unkind. “You’re not some kind of liability I have to manage. And I’m not some ‘brand’ like Robin keeps harping on about—I’m a person.”
Finn’s jaw worked as though forming a reply, but Sylvia barreled on, her voice fierce.
“And for the record? I’m proud of you. You’ve worked hard to get on a whole new trajectory, and anyone with half a brain can see that. If anyone doesn’t like seeing me with you, then I guess they don’t need the best potions on Rafta.”
The corners of Finn’s mouth twitched again, his shoulders lowering a fraction as some rigidity bled out. “You sure? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, not everyone’s keen on a big scary shark fella hangin’ around.”
“Their loss, then,” Sylvia said, crisp. She gestured loosely toward him, her gloved hand fluttering in a way that seemed to take in all of him. “You’re not just some big scary shark. You’re smart, you’re loyal, and you’re unbelievably tenacious. You’re not an anchor—you’re a life preserver.”
For a moment, Finn simply looked at her, tugging his tie back and forth. “Didn’t think you’d get all sentimental on me, Minnow.”
“Sentimental?” Sylvia’s nose wrinkled faintly, her smile wry but genuine. “It’s not sentimental if I’m just stating the facts—right?”
A low chuckle rumbled out of him, quiet but full. “Alright, alright. I hear ya. I’ll stick around, then. Long as you’re sure you can handle the PR nightmare that is me.”
Sylvia huffed a solitary, sharp laugh. “Oh, please. Some scandal might actually be fun.” She held Finn’s gaze for a beat longer before pivoting back toward the market stalls. “Come on. If we keep standing here, someone’s going to start selling tickets to the show.”
Finn matched her stride, the tension in his posture finally easing as he fell into pace. “Wouldn’t be the worst racket I’ve heard of. Long as Robin doesn’t get his grubby mitts on a cut.”
As they walked, Sylvia caught the quick glance he stole in her direction, his expression softening just before he spoke again. “Y’know, when you say stuff like that… it’s different. Hits harder.”
“Different how?” she asked, voice light but laden with interest.
“I dunno.” His swagger slipped just enough to allow a nervous laugh to escape. “You don’t sugarcoat things, so when you’re in my corner, it’s not just blowin’ smoke. Feels solid, like ya mean it.”
Sylvia tilted her head, eyes bright. “Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t waste my breath otherwise.”
Without a word, she hooked her arm through his as they walked, the contact catching slightly on the coarse texture of his skin. Finn glanced down at her, a faint hint of surprise softening into something more tender. Sylvia didn’t say anything, didn’t need to; the rough edges were as much a part of him as everything else she had come to rely on.
Chapter Text
Dawn seeped into the workshop in narrow slivers, brushing over jars of crushed herbs and a faint haze of dust. The chirps of waking birds slipped through the cracked window, their notes threading with the rustle of leaves outside. Sylvia darted from shelf to counter, her gloves creaking faintly as she adjusted jars into a row, her movements brisk but sure, like the pendulum of a clock. Muscles protested with small, simmering aches, the kind she usually only noticed when the world slowed down.
She laid out the ingredients with practiced hands, her gloves creaking faintly as she adjusted them, lost in the rhythm of her work. Her eyes flicked between the checklist and the workspace, checking off each task with an absent flick of her fingers. The final recipes were pinned to the wall, a quiet declaration of readiness, a promise of success.
Oswald's head swiveled back and forth, watching Sylvia’s restless pacing with the sharp glint of an appraising eye. “You’re fluttering around like a hummingbird on its fourth cup of nectar,” he said, a chuckle ruffling his feathers. His tone was light, but the way his talons gripped the stool betrayed a flicker of unease. “Tomorrow’s the big day, huh?”
Sylvia paused for a moment, smoothing a hand over her notebook. She shot him a wry smile. “Better busy than brooding. If I get everything lined up, I can focus on executing the final batches perfectly. No room for mistakes here.”
“Not that I’d expect any less from you.” Oswald’s tone softened, his feathers fluffing slightly. “But don’t forget to breathe, kid. You’re more than ready for this.”
Sylvia’s response was a distracted hum as she reached for another jar, her hands slowing as she measured out the ingredients. The frenetic energy of the morning stilled a little bit more with every precise motion, the natural ease of her craft shining through. She let out a quiet breath as she carefully measured the last ingredient, her fingers steady, as if in sync with the tempo of the shop itself.
The light shifted, now streaming in through the window in gentle beams, dust motes dancing lazily in the air. Sylvia glanced at the recipe in front of her, eyes momentarily lingering on the final brew: radiation tonic. The weight of tomorrow’s competition pressed down on her, but she moved mechanically, her hands grabbing ingredients without thought, almost as if her body knew what to do without her mind fully engaged.
Time passed in soft waves, the subtle shift from early morning to mid morning unnoticed until the gentle chime of the shop door broke the quiet. Finn’s broad frame blocked out the light momentarily before he stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room.
“Mornin’, Minnow. This what genius at work looks like?”
Sylvia glanced up, her smirk crooked. “Morning. And yes, this is controlled chaos.”
Finn crossed the room, his eyes narrowing slightly when he locked onto Sylvia’s gloved hands moving with a faint tremor. “Hold up.” His tone shifted toward accusation. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Sylvia’s hand hovered mid-motion over a jar, her eyes darting to meet his briefly before flicking back to her work. “I’ve been busy. I’ll eat later,” she said, her tone dismissive but unconvincing.
Finn clicked his tongue, the sound sharp. “Later, huh? You’re shakin’ like a twig, Minnow. Breakfast time.”
“Finn—” Sylvia started, but he cut her off, his tone light but firm as he stepped into her space.
“Nope. Don’t even start,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing edge. “You’re comin’ with me. Coffee and breakfast. Vampire rules.”
Sylvia groaned, but the sound was half-hearted, a smile tugging at her lips despite her resistance. “You’re bossy for someone who lost that title.”
“Lost? I’d say you stripped it from me, if I’m rememberin’ correctly.” He rested one hand on the counter as he grinned, fairly looming over her. “Now, I’m waitin’ right here. No excuses. You’re not dodging breakfast.”
She exhaled in mock exasperation, her posture sagging ever so slightly with the weight of broken concentration. “I’m not trying to,” she muttered, her voice softening with reluctant affection. “But I’m preparing this batch first. I need it brewing while I’m out.”
“Deal,” Finn said. “But don’t take all day about it.”
Sylvia paused, scanning the ingredients arrayed on the workbench. She took a steadying breath, her fingers reaching for the powdered antler again. “It won’t be long. I’ve had plenty of practice making radiation tonic lately.”
Sylvia settled into the coziness of the café, the soft hum of conversation and rich scent of coffee washing over her. She took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes lighting up as they took in the dim, flickering candlelight and the charm of the place. “I really like it here,” she said, her smile soft and thoughtful. “It’s peaceful. Not too crowded, but still feels alive.”
Finn leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the room with a lazy, appreciative gaze. “Guess you’re not the crowd-lovin’ type, huh?”
She chuckled, setting her cup down with a soft clink. “Not really. It’s a lot easier to get some thinking done when the ambience is quieter.”
He raised an eyebrow, his tone turning playful. “Thinkin’ about what?”
Sylvia picked up her pastry, taking a deliberate bite, savoring the flavor before answering. “I was just thinking about how I briefly wanted to be a baker when I was little. But it turns out baking’s even more precise than potions.” She smirked as she brushed a few crumbs from her fingers. “Who knew?”
Finn laughed softly, watching her with a fondness that blunted his usual edge. “A baker, huh? That’d be somethin’ to see.”
Their banter flowed easily until the manager came by to check on them. Sylvia exchanged a few pleasantries, noting how much she loved the atmosphere. The manager’s smile faltered slightly as they mentioned the rising rent and their hopes of staying in business. Sylvia’s glance flicked to Finn with a barely discernable shift in her posture.
Finn caught the change, an unspoken cue, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully before he sympathized at the manager. “Rent hikes, huh? That’s gotta be tough. Some people’ll bleed you dry.”
The manager hesitated, their expression opening a bit as they considered his words. “Tell me about it,” they said with a sigh. “It’s hard to keep up when you’re already stretched thin.”
Finn’s gaze sharpened, his grin one of professional interest. “Wouldn’t mind takin’ a look at what’s going on there. Some of these landlords forget how much it costs to actually run a place, y’know?”
The manager seemed both relieved and intrigued by the offer, their posture relaxing slightly. They gave a small nod. “I appreciate that. It just feels like I don’t really have any footing to negotiate. If you think you can help, I’d be grateful.”
With a polite wave, the manager excused themselves to tend to another table, leaving Finn and Sylvia in a brief but expressive silence. Finn settled back in his chair, his smirk returning as he met Sylvia’s eyes.
“So,” he said, tapping his jaw in mock thought, “I’m guessin’ you’re gonna make this a haunt?”
Sylvia’s eyes sparked with satisfaction. “If you insist. Maybe they’ll catch a break, and I won’t have to look for a new favorite café.”
Finn shook his head with a laugh, enjoying her sense of justice. “You sure know how to reel a guy in.”
She shrugged, eyes gleaming as she leaned forward and set her hand over his. “Gotta keep you sharp, right?”
Finn’s hand took hers, his thumb tracing arcs over the leather of her glove. The rhythm was unhurried, deliberate, like a habit long ingrained. Sylvia stilled as her gaze dropped to where their hands rested. The motion was oddly familiar, and she realized why.
Her voice was soft, almost hesitant. “You do that when you’re thinking, don’t you? With your rings.”
Finn blinked, his thumb pausing mid-stroke before resuming, this time slower. “Didn’t notice,” he admitted, his chuckle low and self-aware.
The conversation meandered like a slow current, effortless and unhurried, as they finished their pastries. Finn rested an elbow on the table, his shoulders settling into a looser, more casual slouch. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth every time Sylvia laughed.
“So,” he said, tracing the edge of his cup with one sharp nail, “how ‘bout making this a regular thing?”
Sylvia tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a steady, unguarded smile. Her gaze held his, affectionate and unwavering. “Sounds good to me.”
Finn nodded, his fingers drumming lightly against the table before he leaned back in his chair. His glance wandered the cozy café as he stretched one arm along the back of his seat. The corner of his mouth quirked with familiar mischief, his tone light but carrying an easy sincerity. “Alright, Minnow. Just say when.”
Sylvia didn’t respond immediately, her fingers idly brushing the edge of her plate as she watched him. Neither felt the need to fill the silence.
Sylvia had barely swallowed the last sip of her coffee when Finn pushed himself to his feet, stretching with a satisfied grunt. “Alright, Minnow. What’s next on your list?”
“Running errands,” Sylvia replied with a slight grin, gathering up her satchel. “You’re not off the hook yet.”
“Guess I’m taggin’ along for moral support? Eh, I got some stuff to handle, anyway.”
The streets of Rafta bustled with energy, the morning sun dimmed by clouds rolling in from the horizon. Their first stop was the forge, where Muktuk greeted Sylvia with a booming laugh that echoed over the hammering of metal.
“Show us your conviction tomorrow, Sylvia!” he rumbled, nearly bowling her over with a weighty clap to her shoulder. “Your victory will be a story for the ages.”
Sylvia chuckled, steadying herself under the enthusiastic pat. “Thanks, Muktuk. I’ll try to live up to the hype.”
“You’ll do more than that,” he said, a proud grin spreading across his face. “But tonight—hearty food and rest! A champion needs both.”
Finn gave an amused snort as they left. “Hope the rest of your fan club’s half as entertaining.”
Quinn was next. Their eyes flicked over Sylvia appraisingly before offering a succinct, “Knock him dead. Literally, if you can swing it.”
Sylvia laughed nervously. “Sure thing, Quinn.”
The temperature dipped as they moved through town, a chill creeping in on the brisk wind. Sylvia briskly rubbed her arms and noticed Finn shiver slightly. She rummaged through her satchel and pulled out a thick knitted jacket, slipping it on with a sigh of relief before reaching back in up to her shoulder and fishing out a scarf. She held it out to him.
“Here. It’s getting cold.”
Finn looked at the scarf—soft and fuzzy, with pom-poms dangling from the ends—and gave her a dubious look. “I’m good.”
Sylvia tossed the loop up over his head anyway. Finn grumbled as he adjusted the fabric, pulling it away from the gills on his neck with a grimace. “Feels like bein’ suffocated,” he muttered.
She tilted her head as she looked him over, a hint of a laugh in her voice. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”
Finn watched her, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He tugged at the ends of the scarf the way he always fidgeted with his untied bowtie.
Sylvia shook her head, though her smile betrayed her. “Really? I try to warm you up, and this is how you repay me?”
“What can I say, Minnow? Got my habits.” He chuckled, the sound insulating against the growing chill.
Their next stop was Luna’s office, where the moth greeted them with a jittery grin, clutching two cups of coffee while deftly tapping away at her phone. She handed Finn a small envelope.
“Your business cards are ready,” she said brightly. Then, turning to Sylvia, she added, “Good luck with the competition tomorrow. I know you’ll dig deep and push through.”
“Thanks, Luna,” Sylvia replied. “We’ll have to grab coffee at this great little café soon—I think you’ll love it.”
The Heroes Guild was their last stop. Mint saluted enthusiastically, Corsac gave a nod and a quiet, “Be prepared,” and Xid, lounging in her usual spot, winked.
“Show ‘em what you’re made of,” Xid said, leaning forward. “Don’t let him knock you off your rhythm.”
“Yeah!” Mint agreed. “Eyes on the prize, Sylvia!”
Baptiste appeared just as they turned to leave. Though his role as judge demanded neutrality, his expression betrayed his support. “Officially, I remain steadfastly impartial,” he said with an elegant wave of his hand. “Unofficially, however, my best wishes are with you.”
Sylvia drew in a deep breath, bolstered by the ease of his support. “Thanks, Baptiste. I’ll do my best to make it an easy call.”
As their brief exchange wrapped up, Sylvia’s attention snagged on Finn, loitering a short distance away. He leaned slightly toward Xid, his broad shoulders turned just enough to suggest low conversation. Sylvia tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face. Finn caught the shift in her posture and glanced her way, his mouth curving into a faint grin as he straightened, breaking off whatever he’d been saying. Xid gave a languid wave, her fingers already trailing back to her guitar strings, and Finn ambled back to Sylvia with an air of casual confidence.
“Ready to move along?” he asked, adjusting the scarf with an exaggerated tug that betrayed its lingering annoyance. “Didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“No worries,” Sylvia said, her brow lifting slightly. “What were you two whispering about over there?”
Finn smirked, his teeth gleaming as he drew himself up. “Can’t say, Minnow. Confidential.”
Sylvia’s lips pressed into a flat line that didn’t quite hide the flicker of amusement behind her narrowed eyes. “Confidential, huh?” she echoed. “Alright.”
The first drops of rain spattered the cobblestones as they stepped outside, faint splashes peppering the air with a clean, earthy scent. By the time they reached the square, the rain thickened into a steady downpour, slanting in silver sheets. Sylvia ducked under an awning, droplets rolling off her jacket as she shook it out with a sharp flick.
Finn stood in the open, tilting his head back to better let the rain cascade over him. A quiet sigh escaped him as he ran a hand through his damp hair. Seeing him so unguarded, so content, made Sylvia’s chest fill with something foolish and light.
“You’re not gonna leave me under here alone, are you?” she called, injecting a teasing lilt into her voice to mask the sudden wave of nerves.
Finn turned back to her, the rain slicking his skin and clinging to his shirt. His grin was slow, deliberate. “You know I like the rain, Minnow.”
Then he sighed, stepping under the awning with her, close under the narrow shelter. “But I guess I like ya a little more.”
Sylvia’s breath caught, her heart vaulting into her throat. Before she could overthink it, her hand darted up, snagging him by the collar of his shirt. She surged forward and her lips met his in a kiss as sudden as the change of weather.
For an instant, he froze, the rain still dripping from his hair onto her face. Then his hands slid to her waist, steady and certain, and she leaned into him.
When they broke apart, every beat of rain against the awning was amplified by the steady drumming in her ears. Finn rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. The scarf she’d draped over him earlier now brushed against her cheek, its soft fabric carrying the faintest trace of his heat. Tucked close, she could feel his steady breath centering her.
“You gonna get all hot and bothered every time it rains, Minnow?” he teased, his voice soft but brimming with mischief.
Sylvia’s laugh was a little shaky, her cheeks flushing as she pushed gently at his chest. “Shush. We should head back before we’re both drenched.”
Finn’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with laughter. “Might not be so bad.” He leaned down, brushing a kiss against her forehead before stepping back.
Sylvia lingered, her fingers trailing over his arm, before reaching into her satchel. She pulled out a bright green umbrella, snapping it open with a triumphant flourish. With a small twirl, she stepped into the rain.
Finn looked from the umbrella to the awning, then back to Sylvia with growing astonishment. “You… minx!” he accused, following her into the downpour.
Sylvia turned with a coy smile, walking backward several paces in silence, eyes bright, before spinning forward again.
“Witches,” Finn muttered with a fond shake of his head. Within a few strides he had caught back up, laughter brightening the stormy morning as they made their way back together.
Sylvia twirled the umbrella once more when she reached the shop door, the bounce in her steps undimmed by the rain still clinging to her boots.
“And so smug about it,” Finn teased as she unlocked the door, the familiar bell tinkling softly in greeting.
“Maybe a little,” she admitted, stepping inside and turning to shake out her umbrella over the cobblestones. When Finn moved to follow her in, she popped the umbrella back open in the doorway like a barricade. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re absolutely dripping!”
Finn looked down at himself, soaked through, then up at her ruefully. “Well, well, if it ain’t the consequences of my actions come knockin’. Fair enough. I got work to do, anyway.”
He lifted a hand to the top of the doorframe, bracing as he leaned forward over her water-repellant shield. “Guess I’ll come back later. Muktuk’s got the right idea—you need a good meal tonight, Minnow. None of that ‘too busy to make dinner’ nonsense.”
Sylvia laughed, shaking her head. “Fine. But you’d better show up dry.”
As the bell jingled softly, she stood for a moment by the door, watching his figure fade into the rain. A deep breath settled her nerves, and she turned to raise the lights.
The shop glowed with its usual warmth, the mingling scents of brewing radiation tonic, curse cure, and sight enhancer carrying a promise of what was to come. Sylvia brushed a hand over the counter, her resolve firming.
The air had grown colder, the nourishing dinner now just a memory. A soft breeze curled through the narrow streets, nudging loose leaves to dance across the cobblestones. Sylvia sat on the low stone wall outside her shop, tugging at the seams of her gloves. Her fingers traced the familiar ridges with a thoughtless, restless rhythm. Beside her, Finn leaned back on his elbows, his face tilted to the sky.
“Long day,” he said, his voice low and unhurried.
Sylvia nodded, her eyes on the ground, knees pulled tight to her chest. “Yeah,” she said. “And tomorrow decides everything.”
The words fell from her mouth like lead. Sylvia turned to look over her shoulder at the shop’s dark windows. The stillness there unsettled her, her mind rushing to fill the quiet with an unwelcome image: a locked door, dust gathering on the counter, her dream slipping through her fingers. She pulled her knees tighter, her chest heavy as if the thought itself had weight. A sharp gust scattered her hair across her face, and she swatted it away with quick, jittery movements.
“You’re lookin’ at the ground like it’s got all the answers,” Finn said, cutting into the silence. His tone held concern but still carried a touch of his teasing edge. “Or like it’s gonna open up and swallow you whole.”
Her head snapped up, startled. “What? No, I’m fine,” she said. She laughed, brittle and hollow. “Just… thinking.”
“Right.” Finn’s voice was almost coaxing now. “You don’t have to spill, but I know when something’s chewin’ on ya. Wanna try me?”
She hesitated, her hands going still against her knees. Her lips pressed tightly together as she fought against the pull to answer. Finn shifted closer, his proximity a comfort in the cool night air. Finally, her shoulders sagged, and her voice came, barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose,” she admitted. “If I do, I don’t know how to fix it. I’ve put everything into this.”
Finn leaned forward. His eyes stayed on the ground for a moment before turning to her, steady and certain. “It’s alright if it feels like it’s all on the line,” he said, his tone low but firm. “That’s your thing, Minnow—you take what’s heavy and swing it right back.” His hand moved, almost casually, to tap the side of her arm, a gentle prod that carried more than his words alone.
She glanced at him, her lips parting as if to argue, but the certainty in his expression stopped her.
“And if tomorrow doesn’t go how you want?” Finn continued, his tone steady. “Big if, by the way—It’s still not over. You’ve got grit, Minnow. And you’ve got folks who’ll have your back. You’re not gonna hit rock bottom.”
Sylvia blinked at him, the knot in her chest easing, though not entirely undone. “You really think so?” she asked, more vulnerability in her voice than she’d hoped to let slip.
Finn huffed a laugh, tilting his head toward her. “Sylvia, I don’t just think it. I know it. I’d bet my fins on it.” His eyes lingered on hers, as if willing her to believe him.
She nudged his arm with her elbow, her laugh lighter now. “Good thing you didn’t totally give up the pep talk thing.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a special case,” he said, rising to his feet. He held out a hand, his palm steady and inviting, fingers flexing slightly.
She hesitated briefly, then slid her gloved hand into his. His grip was solid, grounding her in a better moment.
As they reached the shop, the faint glow from the window spilled onto the cobblestones, casting an inviting light. Finn paused at the doorway, his hand resting on the frame as he glanced down at her. His grin curved, lopsided and sure. “Rest up, Minnow. Tomorrow? It’s yours for the takin’.”
Sylvia braced against the edge of the open door, reluctant to step inside just yet. “Thanks, Finn. For everything.”
He gave a nod, the teasing edge of his smile softening into something sincere, his eyes lingering for a beat longer before he turned back toward the quiet street. His stride was unhurried, the faint sound of his steps fading into the night.
Inside, the familiar scent of burnt kindling wrapped around her, a balm to her frayed nerves. Sylvia leaned back against the closed door, the wood cool against her back, and let her head tip forward. Her chest rose and fell with a deep, steadying breath. Tomorrow was coming, as heavy as she feared—but she would survive it, come what may.
Sylvia’s hand hovered over her satchel, her fingers brushing the clasp before retreating. The glint of polished glass on the workbench caught her eye again. She exhaled slowly and reached for a potion she’d already triple-checked. Her thumb traced the label, crisp and precise, before she placed it inside the bag with care. This is it. Her hand faltered as she reached for her satchel, the significance of the moment pressing her arm down.
Oswald swooped down from the rafters, his feathers ruffling as he landed near her. His tone carried a mix of pride and caution. “Well, kiddo, this is it. The big showdown. You ready to show Robin what for?”
“As ready as I’m going to get,” she said, the words calm but resolute.
Before Oswald could reply, the door eased open with a soft creak, and Finn stepped inside. His tie hung loosely around his neck. “Mornin’, Minnow. You nervous, or just so locked in you forgot to eat?”
She glanced at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Focused. And for your information, I did eat.” She hesitated, glancing imperceptibly at Oswald, who shook his head. “I’m pretty sure.”
Finn held up the paper bag with a flourish. “Figured you might need this,” he said, tossing it toward her.
Sylvia caught the bag midair, the crinkle of paper breaking the shop’s quiet. A buttery scent wafted up as she opened it, and her stomach answered with a low growl. Her first bite of the golden dough crunched softly, honeyed warmth melting on her tongue. The rush hit her harder than expected, her body seizing on the sweetness with a visceral gratitude. Powdered sugar dusted her lips, and she stifled a laugh as she brushed at the faint cloud of white she’d sent into the air.
“Fhanks,” she mumbled through a mouthful.
Finn chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Just don’t blame me if you crash halfway through.”
Sylvia swallowed, wiping her lips with the back of her glove. The comfort of the pastry buoyed her for a beat longer, her voice steadier when she replied. “No chance. This is fuel, right?”
Sylvia hefted the pastry and grabbed her satchel up with her other hand, the familiar weight settling comfortably over her shoulder. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said with a grin, holding the door open theatrically. “It’s a shame more folks don’t see the value in havin’ an emotional support shark.”
They stepped outside together, the brisk air carrying the hum of the town. The streets were already alive with anticipation—vendors calling out and townsfolk gathering in excited clusters. Sylvia drew in a steadying breath, the energy of the town washing over her, igniting her nerves.
As the competition grounds came into view, her gloved fingers tightened around the strap of her satchel, the familiar bite of leather digging into her skin. Finn’s gaze flicked toward her.
“You’ve got this, you know. Robin’s just a stuffed shirt.”
Sylvia met his eyes, her own smile gaining strength. “Yeah,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “Let’s see how poised he is when the pressure’s on.”
The crush of bodies blurred into shifting patches of noise and color, the sharp tang of roasting nuts and dusty stone filling her lungs. A hundred conversations surged and splintered around her, but Sylvia locked her eyes on the path ahead, letting Finn’s presence beside and slightly ahead of her carve a way through the chaos. Locked together, they navigated through the packed streets leading toward the arena.
The final round awaited, and Sylvia was ready.
Chapter Text
The noise of the full stadium was a tidal wave, deafening yet somehow distant. Baptiste’s voice boomed through the arena, ringing in her ears. “The winner is… Sylvia!”
The words struck her, but the euphoria she should have felt was absent. Instead, her chest tightened, her breaths shallow and uneven as her mind spiraled. Her fingers clenched into fists so hard they ached, and yet she couldn’t loosen her hold. It’s not over. It can’t be over. She’ll rewind it again. She’ll make me do it again.
The crowd erupted in cheers, a wall of sound pressing against her, but she was miles away. Her gaze snapped to Mae—no, Maven. Had always been Maven. The lizard perched motionless on Robin’s shoulder, her eyes dull and unfocused. It was wrong. Too still. Too quiet. Sylvia couldn’t trust it; Maven had fooled them all before. She’s just waiting. Waiting for me to believe it’s over, to drop my guard.
Her heart thundered in her ears, drowning out the raucous applause. She’s going to do it again. I’ll blink, and I’ll be back at the start, drained and weaker and having to do it all over. Time stretched, each second dragging into an eternity. She shifted on her feet, her knees locked tight to keep her from crumpling.
Sylvia’s gaze darted back to Maven, searching for any flicker of intent in those reptilian eyes. Her mind supplied a twitch of movement that wasn’t there. Instead, there was nothing. A blankness. A stillness more shocking than if the lizard had spoken again.
Robin didn’t even seem to notice. He stood slack-jawed, staring at the stage as if unable to process what had happened. The snooty self-assurance he wore so easily was gone, his shoulders slumped in defeat. For a moment, he looked… ordinary.
Something shifted inside Sylvia, a faint tremor of disbelief turning into a cautious hope. Maybe it is over. Maybe I really won this time. But her heart refused to calm, her breaths shallow and quick. The thought barely had time to form before doubt surged again. What if I’m just convincing myself? What if that’s the trick?
“Minnow!”
Finn’s voice pierced through the haze. Her head snapped up to find him cutting through the dispersing horde, his stride easy and sure. He grinned as he reached her, the way he carried himself unshakable. His confidence fell on her like the beam from a lighthouse.
“You did it!” he said, as though the outcome had never been in doubt.
Her lips parted, but no words came. She stared at him for a beat, her mind still lagging behind reality. Slowly, she extended a hand toward him, her movements on autopilot.
Finn’s brow lifted in disbelief before he snorted, his grin turning crooked. “The hell is this? Get outta here.” He batted her hand aside, and before she could react, his arms were around her.
The hug was solid, pulling her in against his chest like a tether drawing her back to the ground. She felt the steadiness of his breath, the warmth of him, but her body remained rigid, her shoulders locked. She wanted to relax into him, to believe the nightmare was over, but the tension refused to leave her.
Finn paused, his grip loosening just enough to pull back and observe her, hands on her shoulders. His sharp eyes took her in, the furrow of his brow deepening. “Hey. You doin’ okay?”
Sylvia blinked, her breath catching. “What? No. Yeah,” she said, the words tumbling out in a jumble, all out of cadence. “Just…” She struggled, searching for the word, the word that would make sense without explaining the impossibility of what she had experienced. “Overwhelmed.”
Finn’s gaze didn’t waver. He appeared unconvinced, and for a moment she thought he might push, but then his grin crept back, gentler now.
“Come on, Minnow. Let’s take a walk. Get some air. As much as I’d love to parade a catch like you around, you look like you could use a break.”
The idea of staying—of enduring the enormous energy of the crowd, the endless congratulations, the press of too many bodies—made her stomach churn. She nodded quickly, her throat tight. “Yeah. Okay.”
Finn gestured grandly, offering his arm. “Your chariot awaits.”
A flicker of amusement broke through her haze, and she took his arm, her grip light but grateful. As they stepped away from the arena, the noise of the throng faded, replaced by the softer hum of the town coming back to life after the big event. The brisk air cooled her flushed skin, each step easing some of the tension knotted in her chest, each step carrying her farther from Robin, from Maven.
Finn stayed close, his stride easy, his presence steadying, comfortable. Sylvia let herself lean into that, even as her mind lingered on Maven’s empty gaze. But with every step forward, the dread loosened its grip.
With the sounds of the bustling town fading behind them, Sylvia walked slowly beside Finn, her mind still tangled in a clinging web of unease. Despite the relief she should feel, it hadn’t quite reached her heart yet. Every step was the same as the one before, like she was still caught in a loop; the echo of Maven’s power persisting.
“I thought I was done for,” Sylvia said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She shoved her hands into her pockets, the motion grounding her, though it did little for the rapid rhythm of her breathing. “When she—when Mae turned out to be Maven…” She paused, eyes flicking to the street ahead, avoiding Finn’s gaze. “That first time I won, I thought it was over.”
Her breath hitched slightly, the memory still raw, still too close. “But then, when I thought I’d won, when everyone started cheering… she rewound it. Turned everything back, just like that.” Sylvia snapped her fingers, the sound sharp in the air. “I’d already been running on fumes by the end of the first go around. When it reset, I… I thought it was real. I wanted it to be real. But then, I was fighting just to stay on my feet. I couldn’t keep selling, couldn’t keep my head straight. Everything kept slipping away.”
Sylvia shuddered, her shoulders tightening with the recollection of her mind failing her, of the terror that came with not knowing whether she was stuck in an endless cycle. “It wasn’t just about losing. It was about never getting to win. Being trapped in that moment. I couldn’t breathe. I thought maybe she’d do it again. That maybe she would keep doing it until I was too weak to even fight anymore.” She drew in a shaky breath, swallowing the panic that still clung to the back of her throat.
Finn’s jaw tightened as he listened, his hand unconsciously flexing at his side. For a moment, he said nothing, a silence that felt heavy but not oppressive. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured.
“You still held your ground, Minnow. With everything she threw at you. I just…” He exhaled again, rubbing his thumb over his ring. “That’s some serious grit.”
Sylvia blinked at him. He was looking at her like she’d just knocked the wind out of him, and the frankness made her stomach twist in a way that wasn’t unpleasant but was still unnervingly intense.
“I don’t know if it’s grit or just desperation,” she said finally, her voice tinged with self-deprecation.
Finn’s posture softened, leaning toward her before shaking his head firmly. “Nah, it’s grit. Don’t sell yourself short, Sylvia.”
Her name on his lips, spoken so earnestly, hit her like a current. She let herself unclench a little, her shoulders relaxing just a hitch.
“But why did Maven want Robin to win so bad?” Finn asked after a thoughtful pause, almost to himself, voice full of suspicion. “Doesn’t really make sense.”
Sylvia stopped walking for a moment, her heart stalling. She hadn’t considered this was coming—that she had to connect the dots, to confess that she and Robin had been spinning the same deception about their animal companions.
“He needed the Mavenbloom to brew a potion,” she said, the words coming out like the gush of air after puncturing a balloon. “A potion that would turn Mae back into Maven. The whole time, that was his endgame. It wasn’t really about the competition at all. It was about that damn flower. And her.”
Finn’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “So that’s why he tried makin’ that deal with you.”
“Yeah,” Sylvia said, her voice hardly above a whisper. She kicked a loose stone down the street, watching it skitter across the cobbles, her feet slow and unsteady now. A shaky breath escaped her lips, her nerves catching back up to her. She wasn’t ready to expose the last secret she had kept close to her vest for so long. But Finn was right there. His presence was heartening, and that was enough to push her.
Sylvia’s gaze dropped to the ground where she shuffled her feet in small circles. “But I needed that flower,” she started, her throat tight. “My pet owl… he’s actually my uncle.” Her voice broke on the last word, like the truth was wringing her chest. “Uncle Oswald.”
Finn blinked, utterly still for a long moment, caught in a rare state of stunned blankness. “Wait, hang on—back up a sec. Your uncle? The owl. Oswald?” His voice was cautious, like he was testing each word for stability.
“My uncle,” Sylvia repeated with a tired laugh. Her eyes flicked up, meeting his, her shoulders sagging. “The fallout from the battle at Maven’s castle transformed him—when he went looking for potion ingredients. He didn’t die, everyone just thought he did. I did, too, for a while. And then when he told me, I couldn’t let anyone find out! With the debt, I couldn’t… He’d be violating the terms of the loan, and I’d just lose the whole shop then and there.”
Finn let out a long breath, rolling his shoulders. “Minnow, that’s…” He paused, searching for the right words. “That’s a helluva thing to carry on your own. You—damn.”
His bluntness made Sylvia’s lip twitch into a weak smile despite herself.
She nodded, swallowing hard, her thoughts a tangled mess of uncertainty and exhaustion. Words felt inadequate, too small to contain the roil shuddering inside her. But Finn was a lifeline.
Sylvia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, the fabric of his shirt smooth against her cheek. For a moment, she simply held on, letting the contact tie her to something solid. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft. “I don’t think I could’ve handled all of this without you keeping me afloat.”
Finn’s hands settled lightly on her back, one resting just below her shoulder blades. “You’re givin’ me too much credit, Minnow,” he said with a teasing edge. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t run yourself into the ground. And let’s be real—mountains of debt and a secret undead owl uncle? That’d wind anybody up tighter than a fishing reel.”
Sylvia huffed a quiet laugh against his chest, the tension easing as she pulled back, though her hands lingered briefly on his arms. “Maybe. But still. Thanks for sticking around.” She shifted her feet, itching to keep moving. Standing still made her feel like she was teetering.
Finn’s grin deepened as he gently turned her forward to resume walking, his arm around her shoulders. “And here I was the whole time thinkin’ you were just real passionate about potions.” Sylvia dug an elbow into him and he brushed it off with a chuckle. “A lotta things are startin’ to make more sense. No wonder that bird hated me so much. Guess I’m not good enough for his favorite niece.”
Sylvia snorted, the laugh sounding more exhausted than amused. “Right. He wasn’t only a grumpy old owl.”
“Grumpy’s one way of puttin’ it. But I guess I’d be testy too if I was looking out for someone who loves stirrin’ up trouble as much as you.”
Sylvia shot him a glance, her lips twitching again. “Stirring up trouble? I’m just trying to get through everything one day at a time, and trouble keeps popping up.”
“Oh, sure , Minnow,” he said, drawing out the word with insincerity. “Little Miss ‘I’ll have a demon move into my basement’ and ‘I’ll go check on this jerk shark moping on the beach’ over here. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m not complainin’,” he added, his hand sliding down her arm to settle on her waist, “but you definitely don’t wait for trouble to find ya.”
Sylvia sighed, the last remnants of the clenched ache leaving her shoulders as she leaned into him. “Yeah, maybe. But I think I’ve had enough trouble for one day. I’m ready to go home, get some space, and, I don’t know, take a nap for a few years.”
Finn nodded, then glanced at her casually, his smile turning sly. “You know, a nice, strong coffee might bring you back to life. Something to give you a little pick-me-up before you can crash out?”
Sylvia glanced sideways at him. “I don’t drink caffeine in the afternoon.”
He shrugged, unfazed by her skepticism. “Hey, you’ve been through the wringer today. Maybe you wanna take the edge off before you get home. Plus, that café you love is just down the road.” His tone was casual, but there was a playful glint in his eye. “Whaddaya say?”
Sylvia hesitated for a moment, the tinge of exhaustion settling deep into her bones, but the idea of a hot drink, maybe a little quiet, something to help her process… it wasn’t the worst idea. “I guess I could go for a hot chocolate,” she said, her voice tipped more toward enthusiasm than resignation, but only barely.
She started walking along again, but she glanced over at him. “This had better not be one of your schemes.”
He gave her that charming, almost infuriating grin, as if it were ridiculous to suspect there was any ulterior motive behind his suggestion. “Scheme? No scheme. Just thought you could use a little treat. You know, after saving the whole damn island from the return of Maven? Just my way of showin’ a bit of appreciation.”
Sylvia smirked at his tone, rolling her eyes. “Uh-huh. You would never be up to something.”
He feigned innocence, holding his hands up in defense. “Me? I’m just offering a drink, Minnow. No big deal. But seriously, if you’ve been dealin’ with all of—” he motioned vaguely to the world around them “—that, you deserve a moment to breathe.”
Sylvia regarded him with suspicion, but she was holding back a smile. “Alright.”
Finn’s next step had a bit of bounce to it, clearly pleased by her agreement. He shot her another smile as they walked, the air between them light.
The walk back to the shop was quieter, the air light after the warmth of the café. Sylvia finished her hot chocolate in companionable silence, her earlier unease fading into a manageable hum. Finn kept the conversation easy, tossing in small jokes and sharp observations that kept her thoughts in the present. By the time they reached the shop, Sylvia felt steadier—almost herself again.
She pulled out her keys, her fingers brushing against the worn metal. The lock clicked under her hand, and the familiar creak of the door followed as she pushed it open. With a flick of her wand, the soft glow of the shop’s lights spilled into the space.
And then—
“Surprise!”
The thunderous shout echoed throughout the room. Sylvia yelped, dropping her keys as she froze in the doorway. Her wide eyes darted from wall to wall, swiftly processing the scene before her. Vibrant streamers crisscrossed the beams, and clusters of balloons bobbed cheerfully along the walls. But her gaze snagged on the massive banner stretched above the counter, shimmering with Luna’s signature flair:
Congratulations, Sylvia!
She blinked rapidly, her breath catching in her throat. The faces of her friends came into focus, each one glowing with pride and excitement. Luna bounced on her heels, her hands clasped over her chest as if trying not to burst. Roxanne stood beside an elaborate cake, her arms crossed and a self-satisfied smirk playing on her lips. Muktuk’s booming laugh rang out as he waved both arms, his exuberance filling the room. Baptiste moved gracefully between them, handing out champagne flutes, his polished presence providing stability. Even Quinn sat perched on the counter, their expression bored but betrayed by the faintest twitch of a smile.
Sylvia took a shaky step forward, her hands hovering at her sides like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. “You… you all did this? For me?”
From the corner of her eye, she caught a movement in the doorway. Finn leaned casually against the frame, his grin smug and unrepentant. Sylvia turned sharply, pointing a trembling finger at him. “You! You knew!”
The room broke into laughter, and Saffron’s calm voice cut through the noise. “Oh, Sylvia, he planned the whole thing.”
“Sorry, Minnow," he offered, disingenuous, his tone maddeningly casual. "It was a scheme.”
Sylvia opened her mouth, but Baptiste stepped forward, his glass raised high. The room stilled as his voice rang out, smooth and commanding. “To Sylvia,” he declared, his tone suffused with acclamatory verve. “A champion in every sense, triumphant through sheer, unmatched skill and dedication. Let us celebrate her well-deserved victory!”
Cheers erupted, glasses clinking and voices overlapping. Sylvia splayed her fingers over her chest, feeling her heartbeat thrum under her palm. The emotion threatened to bubble over, but she blinked it back, letting the sound of their celebration wash over her. For once, she didn’t argue, didn’t shrink. She let herself take it in.
As the chaos settled into a lively hum, Roxanne waved her over. “Come, darling. Admire this masterpiece,” she said, gesturing to the cake. “I pulled out all the stops.”
Sylvia couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her. “This is… Roxanne, this might be the most terrifyingly beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Roxanne placed a hand over her heart with mock injury. “Sylvia, I’m standing right here. How could you insult me so?”
Before Sylvia could react, Roxanne laughed, a genuine camaraderie softening her usual sharpness. Luna, glowing with pride, pointed at the banner. “And I made that! Took forever to get the shimmer right, but you deserve all the sparkle!”
Sylvia’s shoulders rose, gratitude swelling in her chest. “I love it.”
Sylvia was still smiling at Luna when Mint’s arms wrapped suddenly and fiercely around her. Mint squeezed her tight, lifting Sylvia off her feet for a moment before setting her back down.
“Congratulations, you absolute legend!” Mint’s voice was muffled by Sylvia’s shoulder, but the intensity behind the words was unmistakable.
Sylvia chuckled, a little breathless, and patted Mint’s back gently. “I—I can’t breathe, Mint.”
Mint released her and pulled away just enough to give Sylvia a wink, her grin bright. “Well, you’re going to have to breathe later, then.” She paused, glancing at the banner with a gleam in her eyes. “You did it! I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mint,” Sylvia said, wiping at her eyes.
Sylvia scanned the rafters, searching for Oswald’s familiar silhouette. But there was no sign of him. She frowned, stepping further into the shop, then paused when her gaze landed on the counter. Oswald sat comfortably there, looking entirely at ease. Saffron leaned on the counter beside him, idly petting his head with a relaxed smile. Her voice was gentle, almost a hum, as she spoke to Quinn.
Sylvia’s lips twitched at the sight, watching Oswald’s eyes close as Saffron continued her one-sided conversation, seemingly oblivious to the quiet contentment in the owl’s expression. He deserved a moment of peace.
Sylvia turned her gaze to the room, taking in every detail: the careful placement of decorations, the smiles, the sound of laughter. It was overwhelming in the best way, a tangible reminder of everything she’d built. But her eyes landed, inevitably, on Finn.
He was in the mix, one foot propped on a chair, deep in conversation with Roxanne and Corsac. His gestures were broad, his voice audible enough for her to catch a snippet before moving closer.
“… wiped the floor with each one of us,” he said, his grin sharp. “Never stood a chance, did we?”
Roxanne arched a brow, swirling champagne in her glass. “Speak for yourself, dear. With the right motivation, I could have taken her down.”
Corsac scoffed softly, his arms crossed. “Motivation wasn’t the problem. She outmaneuvered everybody.”
“Better to lose to the champ anyway,” Finn said, his chuckle carrying a rueful admiration.
The words weren’t for her, but they sent a quiet thrill through Sylvia regardless. She stepped forward, her movements deliberate, slipping into the conversation. “Finn, you’re making me sound like a steamroller.”
Roxanne smirked from the side. “He’s only being truthful, darling.”
Finn glanced down at Sylvia, his expression lifting into mock innocence. “What? You don’t think I oughta be tellin’ folks how great you are?”
Her smile quirked, but she held his gaze. “Maybe just tone it down a little.”
“No can do, Minnow,” Finn replied with a teasing grin. “If I don’t talk you up, someone else will—and they won’t do you justice.”
There was something in the way he said it—unapologetically proud, so sure of her. She couldn’t help it. Without thinking, she leaned up and brushed a quick kiss against his lips. She pulled away just as quickly, and before she could say anything more, Xid cheered with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Woo!” Xid’s voice was loud enough to make Sylvia’s face heat, and she rolled her eyes in response, a laugh bubbling up despite herself.
The shop buzzed with life, the clinking of glasses and the hum of conversation wrapping around Sylvia like a pleasant haze. Her friends, her people, surrounded her, and for once, she allowed herself to simply be part of it all—to exist in the moment without the weight of responsibility pressing down on her. There was no need to control anything, to plan, to worry.
As the laughter and chatter flowed around her, she felt Finn standing close by. She reveled in the familiar comfort of the shop, the people, and especially him.
And Sylvia believed she might deserve it all.
Sylvia swept her gaze over the remnants of the party. The room felt strangely quiet now that everyone had gone, the chatter and laughter replaced by the soft rustle of wind through an open window. Luna’s massive banner still hung proudly across the room, the bright colors dimmed in the evening light. It had been a good night—better than she could have imagined.
“I wasn’t expecting any of this, you know,” Sylvia said, her voice softer than usual as she gestured toward the decorations. “I thought I’d just be going to bed early tonight.”
Finn stood beside her, settling against the counter. “Wouldn’t’ve been much of a surprise if you expected it.”
Sylvia glanced at him, her smile small but genuine. “I had no idea you were such a party planner.”
“Can’t give me too much credit,” Finn said with a shrug, though there was a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Roxanne handled the cake. Luna… well, she kind of took over the decorations. Easy enough to plan when everyone’s eager. Though I gotta admit, you had me worried for a minute there.”
“What for?”
“You looked pretty wrecked after the match. I thought maybe it’d be too much, y’know?”
Sylvia’s lips quirked upward, and she gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “Thank goodness for the restorative magic of a nice hot chocolate. Good recovery.”
A thought crossed her mind, and she let out a teasing hum as she turned to face him fully. “But what was the plan if I didn’t win? Were you just going to pack up the banner, hide the cake, and pretend this never happened?”
Finn barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Why would I waste my time planning for that? I mean, come on—look atcha, Minnow. You’ve been blowin’ everyone out of the water since day one. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.”
Sylvia smiled faintly, lowering her gaze as a quiet laugh escaped her. “When you say it like that, it sounds like I had no choice but to succeed.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was full, humming with unspoken things. Sylvia glanced back at the banner, at the scattered streamers and the cake that had been more frosting than substance.
“Feels like the end of something, doesn’t it?” she said after a minute.
Finn, leaning against the counter nearby, shook his head. “Nah.” His voice was calm. “Feels like the start of somethin’ better.”
Sylvia turned to him, eyebrow raised, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward despite herself. “That so?”
“For sure,” Finn said with a grin that wasn’t teasing this time. “Tomorrow, no competition hangin’ over your head. Your uncle gets fixed up. And you? You finally get to run this place without some banker’s boot on your neck. Can’t see it as anything but a fresh start.”
The thought settled, mirroring the calm and unwavering gaze Finn directed at her. Sylvia’s shoulders eased, a quiet breath slipping out. “You’re right,” she said, surprising herself a little. “I spent so long just trying to survive, I didn’t really think about what it would feel like to actually get all the way here.”
Finn chuckled, his voice low and rich. “Well, now you know. Hell, watchin’ you get to the top was the best lesson I could’ve asked for. You can build whatever you want now, Minnow. And whatever it is, I’m bettin’ it’ll be something good.”
Sylvia smiled at the conviction in his words, small but certain, and let her shoulder press against his, their shadows stretching across the room in the fading light.
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” she said.
“Sure will. And if you need someone to keep the riffraff in line…” He tipped his head, flashing a grin. “You know where to find me.”
Sylvia’s laughter came easily. “Well, I shouldn’t have to go very far.”
She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. He squeezed her hand gently, and they lingered like that for a while, quiet and content.
Sylvia glanced up at the banner. Tomorrow, she’d take it down. Tomorrow, the next chapter would begin.
For tonight, though, everything was exactly as it should be.
Chapter 14: Epilogue
Summary:
Just a few scenes I wanted to actually play around in the "established relationship" space, some time after the main events of the game. If you want more plotted-out relationship development post-game, you should check out my Tiny Giant Monsters fic. There's also Tinctures & Tides for more episodic, short-form fluff and thirst.
Thanks for sticking with it if you've read this far, and hope you enjoyed it!
Chapter Text
Sylvia squinted as the sunlight scattered across the waves, the gleam making the ocean look like a vault of treasure spilled open. She waded in with careful steps, each ripple a cool slip climbing her legs. Finn was farther out, leaning back like the tide had propped him there. His grin, sly and expectant, demanded she close the distance. She flicked the water idly with her hands, wavelets fanning out like a cautious declaration.
“You’re stalling, Minnow,” he teased, raking a hand through his wet hair. Water trickled down the sharp lines of his face, sunlight catching on his teeth. Sylvia rolled her eyes, but her gaze snagged briefly on the shimmer along his jaw before she shook it off. “Afraid you’ll get used to having fun?”
“Hey, I’ve been having plenty of fun since the competition ended.” Sylvia laughed, though it turned into a light shiver as the chill of the tide climbed past her hips. “I’m just easing in! This is a gradual process.”
A small ripple stirred against Sylvia’s stomach and she glanced down, catching the faint blur of Finn’s tail slicing through the water before it vanished.
“Gradual, huh? Sounds like torture. I got a better idea.”
“What’s that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes, already suspicious.
Water exploded in sparkling arcs as Finn lunged. Sylvia yelped and tried to retreat, but she didn’t get far before his hands closed firmly around her waist. Her splash of protest turned into startled laughter as he lifted her in one seamless motion, her feet skimming the waves like the tide itself had swept her up.
“Finn!” she cried, though her laughter betrayed her. She grabbed his arms instinctively, her hands finding no purchase against his slick skin. “This is not helping!”
“Sure it is,” he said, his voice light as he held her aloft like a prize. The horizon tilted in her vision, and the rush of exhilaration made her breath come faster. “Now, admit you’re having fun, and maybe I’ll let you down.”
“Alright, fine! I’m having fun!” Sylvia gasped between laughs, kicking at the air.
“Hm, not bad, but try soundin’ less like a hostage,” he said, his grin now outright devilish.
“I’m—” Sylvia started, but the words turned into a shriek as Finn let her drop. The ocean closed around her in a rush, a fleeting shock against her skin. She surfaced quickly, sputtering and laughing, water dripping from her hair.
“See?” Finn said, his voice deep with satisfaction. “Sometimes you just gotta dive in headfirst.”
“You’re impossible,” Sylvia managed, flicking water at him. Her breathless grin softened the words.
“And you’re stuck with me,” he replied, dodging her splash easily. His tail flicked in a counterattack, sending a wave her way. “Lucky you.”
Sylvia sank until the water hugged her shoulders, her smile shifting into a more playful curve. “Oh, I’m not sure who’s luckier here.”
Finn’s grin softened, his teasing edged by something affectionate. “Guess we’ll call it a tie.”
“No ties,” Sylvia said with mock firmness. “I play to win.”
Finn’s chuckle reverberated low in his chest. He dove underwater without warning, leaving barely a ripple behind. Sylvia blinked and glanced around, trying to anticipate where he would pop up. When something brushed her ankle, she yelped, jerking her foot back.
He broke the surface a fair distance away, laughing. “Relax, Minnow. Just me.”
Sylvia narrowed her eyes, swimming closer. “You’re lucky I didn’t kick you. I thought something bit me!”
“That was the idea,” Finn said, his grin widening. “But hey, got your heart racing, didn’t it?”
“Oh, very clever,” she said, paddling until she was almost within arm’s reach. “We’ll see how clever you feel when I get my revenge.”
He eyed her approach, his gaze sparkling with mischief. “Careful, Minnow. You’re swimmin’ into dangerous waters.”
“Pfft, you’re all talk.” Sylvia’s smirk goaded him on.
Finn leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low. “You pokin’ the big fish?”
“I think I’m handling myself just fine,” she said breezily, though her heartbeat quickened as her fingers settled on his shoulders.
Finn’s grin widened, his hands steadying her as the water lapped around them. “Oh, yeah? Then why’re you holding on so tight?”
Before she could reply, his lips met hers. The rhythm of the waves faded as her focus narrowed to the warmth of his kiss. His hand slid to the back of her neck, bracing her, and she instinctively pushed closer, the coolness of the water sharp against the heat blooming between them.
When Finn shifted, she felt the change—his arm wrapping tightly around her waist, pulling her down, tipping them both toward the surface. She inhaled deeply through her nose and shut her eyes as the water enveloped them both.
Her pulse quickened, not only from the sudden plunge but from the closeness, the sensation of their bodies suspended in that weightless space. As the muffling darkness of the water surrounded them, every touch seemed magnified. The silence beneath the waves was sharp and intimate, the current pressing them together.
Time stretched, the embrace lingering, and when her lungs burned for air, Finn lifted her back to the surface. She broke through with a gasp, laughter spilling out of her as water trickled down her face. Finn followed a moment later, his grin wide and unrepentant.
“Unexpected,” she said, breathless, still shaking off the rush.
Finn smirked, slicking his hair back with one hand. “Unexpected, huh? Should I do it again? Y’know, so it’s less of a shock?”
Sylvia flicked water at him, though her smile persisted. The playful momentum ebbed into something quieter, the gentle sound of the waves filling the space between them. Sylvia floated closer, letting her arms rest against the water’s surface. Finn’s hands lingered at her waist, his touch light but sure.
“You really enjoy throwing me off balance, don’t you?” she said.
Finn tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a wry smile. “Nah. I just like seein’ how you bounce back.”
Her lips quirked at his answer, but she didn’t press. The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, settled in her core.
The ocean’s rhythm steadied, matching her breath as she floated closer. Sylvia met his gaze, her smile softening. There was no need for teasing or banter—just the quiet assurance that they both felt the same pull. The water cradled them, but it was the certainty of his touch that anchored her most.
* ~ * ~ *
Sylvia hesitated, the lantern light catching on the wine bottle cradled in her arms. The polished wood of the door reflected her faint silhouette, and her fingers lingered just shy of knocking. Then, with a quick breath, she rapped her knuckles twice against the grain.
The door creaked open almost immediately, as if Finn had been lying in wait on the other side. He leaned one shoulder against the frame, his gaze sweeping her in a way that sent heat to her cheeks.
“Well, look who decided to grace my humble abode,” he said, his grin curling slow and sharp as he stepped aside to let her in.
“Humble?” Sylvia placed a hand on her hip, taking in the space. The apartment was a definite upgrade. A soft glow bathed the space, throwing the artful fishing net on the far wall into a web of shifting shadows. She brushed her fingers along a shelf lined with polished geodes, their jagged surfaces catching the light. The faint brine in the air tickled her nose, a subtle reminder of the sea.
She adjusted the bottle in her hands and turned to him with a grin. “Not bad. You might even fool someone into thinking you have taste.”
He snorted, closing the door behind her. “I’ve always had taste, Minnow. Just needed a reset after you humbled me.” But there was gratification in his voice as he looked around the space, his hand running over the back of the couch.
Her grin faltered, her gaze drifting back to the room. The quiet pressed gently against her, unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. She rubbed her thumb along the neck of the wine bottle, the stillness drawing a sharp contrast to the constant hum of customers and cauldrons at the shop.
Sylvia stepped closer, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “A reset, huh? That’s what you call it when half of Rafta is raving over your seminar series?”
His grin widened, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “Hey, can’t help it if I’m good at what I do.”
“Seriously, though. You deserve the good things coming to you.”
For a moment, his smirk softened, and he looked at her with gratitude. Even after the moment passed, it seemed to ripple through the room before he straightened and clapped his hands together. “So, are we drinkin’ that wine of yours, or are you gonna just admire my good taste all night?”
Sylvia huffed a laugh, sliding the bottle across the counter toward him. “Better get started before your ego gets so big it pushes me right out the door.”
She leaned against the counter as Finn rummaged through a cabinet, muttering about the delicate nature of wine glasses. She watched him with an amused smile, the faint glow of the room’s soft lighting catching on the sharp angles of his jaw and the subtle ripple of muscle beneath his rolled-up sleeves.
“Easy there,” she teased, as he set two glasses firmly down on the table. “You might be new to this whole ‘fancy’ thing, but glass breaks.”
Finn shot her a look, his grin lazy and sharp. “Fancy?” he echoed, taking the wine bottle from her hands. His fingers brushed against hers for just a moment before he casually uncorked the bottle with his teeth.
“Very nice,” Sylvia said dryly. Her fingers trailed absently along the countertop as Finn filled their glasses, her gaze slipping to the neat stack of books on the shelf. The room felt... deliberate. Each detail—every polished geode and carefully arranged card in his collection—hinted at something she couldn’t quite name. A comfortable weight settled in her chest as her thoughts lingered on how much had shifted between them since their first meeting.
He slid her a glass and leaned one hip against the counter, his broad frame relaxed but his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m plenty sophisticated, Minnow,” he said, taking a sip.
Sylvia raised her glass, studying him over the rim as she took a slow sip herself. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said, savoring the bold flavor of the wine as it spread across her tongue.
Finn’s smirk deepened, and he swirled the wine in his glass with surprising finesse. “Oh, come on. This?” He clinked his glass against hers. “This is the very picture of class.”
They both took another sip, the silence between them now charged. The wine was rich, smooth, but the way Finn looked at her—intent, as though the entire world had shrunk down to this moment—made her heart skip.
Sylvia closed the distance between them in an unhurried motion. Her lips pressed softly to his, the faint taste of wine mingling with the salt of his skin. He matched her pace, constant and sure. Sylvia smiled against his lips, her hand curling lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. Finn pulled back just enough to catch her gaze, his grin returning.
“Well,” he said, his tone dipping low, “if this is how you celebrate, you can come over anytime.”
Sylvia chuckled, her fingers trailing to the back of his neck as she drew him back down. Her teeth grazed his bottom lip lightly before she pulled away.
His sharp intake of breath was of half surprise, half amusement. “Careful, Minnow,” he said, his voice rougher. “Throwin’ teeth into the mix? Risky business.”
Sylvia tilted her head with mock innocence, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her. “You’re not going soft on me now, are you?”
He chuckled, low and dark, before flashing a grin that revealed the razor edges of his smile. “Me? Nah. Just didn’t peg you as quite that daring.” He leaned in again, his lips brushing against her ear as he added, “I wouldn’t test your luck. My bite’s a little sharper than yours.”
Sylvia didn’t flinch. “But I like flirting with danger.” Her voice was even, but her pulse raced beneath her skin.
Finn tilted his head, studying her with that keen, appraising expression he wore when she surprised him. Then his hand, coarse but gentle, slid up her arm to rest against her cheek. He leaned in close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he murmured before his lips captured hers again.
His teeth grazed her lip, a hint of the sharpness he’d flaunted. She held her ground, pressing closer, her fingers tightening in his hair as if daring him to back down.
The gentle scrape of his teeth below her ear sent a jolt down her spine, and she tilted her head, giving him better access as he trailed his lips along the line of her throat. One hand slid up the curve of her back and anchored her against him. The deliberate strength in his grip sent a rush through her. Her pulse fluttered beneath his touch, a soft gasp escaping her when he nipped at her collarbone; not hard enough to break skin, but enough to tease the possibility.
Sylvia’s breathy laugh was short-lived, the sound swallowed when his mouth found hers again. His movements slowed, devoting a focus to her that made her pulse quicken. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, another playful bite in retaliation, and his answering chuckle was deep. The vibration sent a wave of heat curling low through her.
Finn pulled back just enough for her to catch her breath, his lips brushing against hers when he spoke. “You don’t scare so easy anymore, do you?”
The teasing edge in his voice remained, though it was blunted by something fonder.
Sylvia’s nose crinkled, her expression almost dismissive, though her lips still curved faintly. “Not when you’d never actually hurt me.”
Finn tipped his head slightly, the barest flicker of mischief still sparking in his sharp gaze, though the rest of him stilled. “So, you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”
The words came lightly, but the pause that followed felt deliberate. His eyes searched hers, unguarded in a way that made Sylvia falter. A question hovered in the space between them, unspoken yet clear in his hesitation: about what she saw in him, what had shifted, and what might never change. Her hands clasped behind his neck.
“Yeah,” she said, the gravity of her answer settling between them. “I do.”
The intensity of the affection in his gaze was almost daunting. “Good.”
For a while, they stayed like that, their breaths a gentle, syncopated rhythm against the stillness. Sylvia adjusted slightly, bringing her fingertips down to brush the weave of Finn’s shirt, the fabric warmed from his skin. His hand rested against her back, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles over the material of her tunic. The quiet hum of his presence wrapped around her, steady and certain, a counterpoint to the restless murmur of the wind outside.
The night stretched on, the world beyond the walls receding into insignificance. Neither seemed in any hurry to break the spell, content to linger in the space they’d carved out for each other.
Chapter 15: The Delicate Art of Meddling
Summary:
This is a spin-off scene where Roxanne returns from her spelunking trip after the radiation storm to lovingly interrogate Sylvia about what may or may not have occurred during the night.
It comes between the second and third scenes of Chapter 11: after Finn leaves, and before Sylvia heads out to the Heroes Guild.
Notes:
I almost had a scene like this in the original fic, but I cut it because it felt like it interrupted/dragged the pacing—especially since Sylvia defends herself to Oswald right beforehand and talks a bit with Xid right afterward. Buuuut... writing the scene as a spin-off from Roxanne's perspective proved to be much more interesting!
It was a fun writing exercise, for sure, and it kind of makes me want to try more of these, but I'm not sure where to start. Does anyone have any "what was so-and-so doing at X point in the story?" type prompts? Can't guarantee it'll strike me with inspiration, but it sounds neat. If I end up doing more of these, I reckon I should make it a separate posting instead of tacking them on here.
Chapter Text
The rain—non-toxic by now, nearly pleasant—had thinned to a hazy whisper by the time Roxanne unlatched the shop’s back door. She paused on the threshold, one brow lifting with sly amusement as she stepped inside and inhaled deeply; half fatigue, half victory.
She had set the stage. Surely the players hadn’t squandered the opportunity.
Shaking a fine mist from her cloak, she adjusted the straps of her pack, and glanced toward the front of the shop where Sylvia stood at the workbench, elbow-deep in some fresh concoction. Her back was turned, her shoulders relaxed, movements fluid and rhythmic as she poured a bright, syrupy liquid into a bubbling cauldron.
Roxanne’s gaze swept across the room, cataloging each detail like artifacts at a crime scene.
Exhibit A: the armchair, dragged conspicuously near the window. Next, a blanket, still rumpled across the cushion in a way that suggested someone had vacated it under drowsy duress. Two mugs on the counter. Matching cauldrons. Cute. Bone-dry now, but still holding the slight perfume of chocolate and something faintly boozy. And in the drying rack?
Two plates. Two sets of silverware. A pan. Two bowls. A whisk. One cutting board.
No sign of the shark, but his fingerprints were everywhere.
Roxanne tilted her head, the round lenses of her glasses catching the low light as her boots tapped across the garish flooring Sylvia had installed from one of Salt & Pepper’s grab-bag treasure chests. Roxanne’s finger drifted lightly over one of the mugs, her perfectly sculpted nail tapping once on its ceramic rim, before she turned toward the sales floor.
A thoughtful noise purred in her throat. Lips pursed, she examined Sylvia from behind, evaluating posture, hair, even the faint skip of her motion when she stirred the cauldron. Not love-struck. Definitely distracted. Warm. Thoughts lingering.
Oh, finally.
She didn’t announce her presence with a cough or a wave. Simply drifted closer with a feline grace and leaned one elbow on the counter beside the cauldron, catching Sylvia’s eye with an expression of utter triumph.
“Sylvia, darling,” she crooned, “I was only gone one night and I return to all this evidence?”
Sylvia blinked, caught off guard.
Roxanne gestured lazily at the mugs, then toward the armchair. “Did strong winds blow through here, or am I looking at the aftermath of something far juicier?”
Sylvia's stirring slowed. She adjusted her grip on the ladle with exaggerated care, clearly calculating her response.
“You’re back early,” she said, with forced breeziness. “Thought you’d be off spelunking through midday at least.”
A lesser woman might have missed the symptoms: posture collapse, evasive speech, restless tapping—a cocktail of classic pre-confessional distress. Roxanne noted it all with the clinical detachment of a very patient hunter. She leaned both elbows on the counter now, chin in palm, drumming the nails of her other hand against the wooden surface.
“Hmm, yes, I had a productive expedition, thank you for asking. Found a vein of cosmic quartz, lost two of my best boots to a patch of stalking fungus, and then I come home only to find proof of…” She trailed off dramatically, pretending to tally on her fingers. “Let’s say, unattended company.”
Sylvia let out a sigh and let her head fall to one side. "He stayed over because of the storm."
There was something off about the way she said it—flat, like she’d repeated the line before. Not defensive. Just… bored of the explanation. Roxanne tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharpening. The shop hadn't opened yet today; the window display was untouched, and the shelves were too well stocked and tidy. So who had Sylvia been saying this to, if not Roxanne?
Or maybe she’d been trying to convince herself.
Roxanne gasped, hand to her bosom. "He?! Oh, darling, don’t spoil the mystery so soon."
“You obviously have your suspicions already.”
“Oh, I do. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the game of cat and mouse.”
Sylvia groaned and turned back to her cauldron, but Roxanne was not about to be shaken. She circled the counter slowly, fingertips grazing the lip of the workbench like a courtroom attorney preparing to deliver her closing arguments.
“So let’s take inventory, shall we?” Roxanne said, her voice polished as a glass flask. “Two mugs, Sylvia. With a splash of something fun, unless my nose deceives me. I haven't smelled brandied cocoa wafting in here before.”
Sylvia scowled at her bottle rack. “It was a stormy night. Perfect time for a hot drink. ”
“Mmm. Of course it was.”
“Roxanne.”
“And breakfast! What a nurturing little domestic scene I’ve walked into. Two plates, something with lemon, unless I miss my guess—and I never do—plus a pan, and scallion ends in the compost. He cooked for you, didn’t he? Dinner, too? My stars.”
A man who cooked before and after spending the night. Maybe he wasn’t entirely useless.
Sylvia’s face was already heating, and Roxanne beamed like an eclipsed sun breaking through the clouds.
“So what I want to know is—” Roxanne alighted on a stool, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate elegance “—did you seduce him over drinks? Leap on him when the thunder struck? Was the cocoa part of your master plan? Did you tie him up with his own bowtie? Or—oh!—did he pull some cheesy come-on and you just snapped? Launched yourself across the counter like a woman possessed? Honestly, you've been wound so tight I can only imagine you needed to blow off steam—or blow something, at any rate.”
Overhead, a sharp flutter of wings interjected.
The shop’s resident owl gave an indignant hoot, his feathers puffing up like a pompous old magistrate, before hopping to a higher rafter with clear disapproval.
Roxanne’s smirk only deepened. Even the wildlife was scandalized. Delicious.
“Oh my gods, Roxanne!” Sylvia glanced upward furtively before slamming the cauldron lid tight. “Fine! We kissed!”
Roxanne froze, eyes bright like she’d been served dessert for breakfast. Sylvia groaned and dragged both gloved hands down her face, distending her skin.
She'd give herself wrinkles doing that.
“It was just a kiss, alright? We played cards, we made ramen, we talked, we had cocoa—standard cabin fever activities. Then he kissed me, I kissed him back, and somewhere between dinner and breakfast, we decided we’re a thing now. No bowtie ropes, no dramatic lightning-passion moment, no... secret storm-tossed tryst. Just a kiss, and a conversation, and a mutually-agreed exclusivity clause. Which apparently you can measure in leftover dishes.”
Roxanne leaned forward with a delighted sigh.
“So,” she drawled, “when’s the wedding?”
Sylvia made a strangled sound, turned on her heel, and marched straight into the back room.
Roxanne stayed perched on the stool, chin resting in hand as she watched the storeroom door like a stage curtain. No movement. No footsteps. Just the faint metallic hiss of potion steam rising from sealed cauldrons and the sound of her own very satisfied humming as she examined her nails.
Eventually—after a full minute of silence—she called out, “You know, if you hide back there any longer, I’ll make up my own ending.”
No reply.
She waited another beat, then added, voice dripping with mock-lascivious glee:
“And in mine, you two got a little too close to the seeking enhancer, knocked a whole cauldron over, and spent the night slipping around on the floor like a couple of wayward eels.”
The door creaked open just enough for Sylvia to emerge, arms crossed, jaw tight, her expression somewhere between defeat and I will shove you into a cauldron headfirst.
“You’re exhausting,” Sylvia muttered as she brushed past.
“And yet, here you are,” Roxanne said sweetly, scooting aside so Sylvia could reclaim her spot behind the counter. “Come now. I've gotten the dramatics out of my system. I can't promise I'll be good, but I'll be better, at the very least.”
Sylvia didn’t dignify that with a response, but she did pick up her ladle again. After a few moments of careful stirring—slower than before, more deliberate—she exhaled.
“It’s weird,” she said finally.
Roxanne didn’t interrupt. Simply leaned her chin further into her hand and tilted her head in the universal gesture of go on.
Sylvia sighed again, this time heavier.
“I mean, it was a kiss. It wasn’t—this wasn’t some epic soul-meld. It was just… good. Real."
Hm. Dangerous kind of kiss, that. Less firework, more fuse.
"And I’m trying not to make the whole 'dating' thing bigger than it is, but everything else feels different now. Even the silence.”
Roxanne blinked slowly. That wasn’t the response she’d expected. But it was interesting.
“Different how?”
Sylvia’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “It's like if someone re-shelved the entire shop while I wasn’t looking. It’s still mine. I still know where everything is. But now I notice the gaps more.”
Roxanne was silent for a moment. Then she patted the cuff of one glove, her voice softer; still wry, but without teeth.
“You mean you let someone in, and now you’re wondering what’s left of the walls.”
Sylvia gave her a sideways look, surprised. “That’s… not totally off base.”
“Please, darling. I’ve dated. I’ve regretted. I've survived.” Roxanne sniffed theatrically. “You think I wear fur for comfort?”
Sylvia cracked the faintest smile. “Do you?”
“Absolutely not. It’s a statement,” Roxanne said primly. “Anyway. What’s his take on it? The kiss. The—whatever you want to call this.” She waved her hand vaguely at Sylvia's general being, as if to encompass her whole dreamy, ruminative state. "What did he say?"
Sylvia poked at the burbling brew with the ladle, watched the swirl.
“He said he likes being the guy I can count on.”
Stars, what a line.
But Roxanne caught the soft smile, the tenor of Sylvia’s voice when she repeated it. The hope.
And hope was tricky. Sticky. The kind of thing you couldn’t get off your hands once you picked it up.
Finn had seemed, for a good while, an entertaining prop in Sylvia’s personal theater: a bit player too dogged to leave the stage. Good for pouring ethical slogans into and building confidence against. A convenient foil.
But, credit where it was due, he had developed something of an arc. And lines. Lines that Sylvia gave weight. For that reason alone, Roxanne hummed appreciatively in response to her report of the dialogue in the latest act.
“See, that’s the trick, darling. Not only the fireworks. It’s what they offer when the sky goes quiet.”
Sylvia leaned her elbows against the sales counter, folding her arms atop it. One gloved finger trailed idly over the wood, then doubled back, as if trying to redraw the same thought in a different shape. Her volume dropped.
“There’s a tiny part of me worrying that… that he’s still figuring himself out. And what if, when he does, he decides the old way was easier? What if this—us, being an item, this whole pivot—doesn’t stick?” Sylvia scrubbed the heel of her hand across her forehead, leaving a faint smudge of antler dust in her wake, before letting her head drop against her arms. Her fingers started tapping again, fast and uneven. Like they couldn’t keep up with the scramble in her head.
"I know it’s probably dumb. The whole ‘teach me above-board business tactics’ thing—it was his idea in the first place. It’s not like I dragged him into anything. But with the competition and everything piling up, I just—” A puff of a laugh, bitter and thin, slipped out. “It feels like there are too many ways to screw this up. Like I’m just waiting for one bad day to knock it all loose. And I’m not exactly… good at being the calm, supportive one while someone else grows. I’m stirring too many pots and trying not to boil over. I’m kind of a mess right now.”
Roxanne contemplated her in silence for a moment, her tail giving a slow, contemplative flick. The way Sylvia’s voice had thinned, not in panic, but rather someone bracing for a fall she could already imagine coming… It was unsettling, seeing dreadfully earnest Sylvia like that. Stripped down, no can-do attitude, no stubborn spark. Just spiraling thoughts.
An old instinct prickled—the low-effort escape of a sultry gibe—and she swallowed it back, bitter as bad wine. Sylvia deserved better than cynical reflexes.
Not that Roxanne was getting sentimental about it. That was for dupes. She had simply witnessed firsthand the sort of miracles a little reckless encouragement could summon. After all, if anyone knew how Sylvia’s influence could take root and upend even the most incorrigible cases, it was Roxanne herself. Was she not living, glamorous proof that even the most delightful scoundrel could be coaxed into legitimacy with enough relentless conviction in their capacity for improvement?
It wasn't her usual trade, handing out encouragement like party favors. But some debts couldn't be dodged. So Roxanne smoothed her gloves across the counter, voice light but precise as a well-honed scalpel.
"He sought out your expertise, darling—after public evisceration. Most men would've slunk off to lick their wounds.”
Sylvia spoke into her folded arms, voice muffled. “That's where I found him. On the beach. Licking his wounds.”
Roxanne gave an airy flick of her wrist, brushing the image away. “Well, yes, but after you hunted him down, he begged you to help him change his ways.”
“That’s not how I’d—” Sylvia started, lifting her head.
“Details.” Roxanne tucked a lock of hair behind one horn. “You made yourself indispensable. So change him. Let him change you too. I'm quite certain he's noticed the mess; you're not subtle about unraveling." Sylvia made a face, something between a grimace and a laugh, but didn’t argue. "If this little arrangement you’re testing out can withstand the pressure you’re under right now, you’ll only be stronger for it. And if it can’t," she added, slipping in a devilishly casual shrug, "he was never going to survive the crucible a driven witch provides.”
Sylvia let out a soft huff, but Roxanne caught the subtle easing of her posture, a tension unwinding in her brow, the barest flicker of relief she wouldn't name out loud. She raised her chin and propped it on one hand, a crooked, tired smile tugging at her mouth. A small snort escaped her.
“How do you make everything sound like a romance novel and a villain monologue at the same time?”
“Skillset." Roxanne slid off the stool, her voice returning to its usual level of regal mischief as she crossed the room. "I did pick an excellent time to go to ground, did I not?"
"Are you trying to say you orchestrated this?"
Roxanne shrugged modestly.
"You did not." Sylvia looked genuinely thrown, focus aimed down at the countertop as she reviewed timelines in her head. "You declared you were leaving before I even left to drop off radiation tonics for everyone."
Roxanne fluttered her fingers like she was shaking off an obvious technicality. "Sylvia, please. The same bleeding-heart alchemist who offered me a rent-free basement would never leave a stranded shark to flounder in a radioactive storm. It was simple math."
Sylvia’s ears turned pink. "I invited Quinn to shelter here too, you know," she said, defensive but not convincing.
The tip of Roxanne’s tail bristled at the wrench narrowly avoided. "Fortune preserve us. It's a good thing they didn't take you up on the offer. A spark smothered by a wet blanket," she declared with theatric despair, "is a tragedy worse even than one drowned in an abundance of fuel." She draped herself against the wall in a fashion that accentuated her curves, with the back of one hand pressed delicately to her forehead.
Sylvia sputtered, torn between indignation and laughter. "You’re—you’re being outrageous. On purpose.”
"And yet," Roxanne said sweetly, resting her chin on her fist, "you are grateful for the privacy, aren't you?"
Sylvia made a show of stolidly stirring the potion with her ladle, pretending Roxanne hadn't posed the question at all.
Finding the willful silence a satisfactory answer, Roxanne opened the trapdoor and started down the ladder, tossing her final words over her shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I like him better now that you’ve kissed him. Gives all of his skulking about the premises some credibility.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes, but her ears stayed pink.
Field Notes on the Entanglement of Sylvia and Boss Finn
(From the private files of Roxanne. To be burned if discovered.)
Date: [Still raining]
Location: Sylvia’s Potion Shop—henceforth known as Ground Zero
Summary:
At last, the long-brewing romantic tension between my generous landlord and her living renovation project has culminated in a kiss.
(And entirely too much talking, if you ask me.)
Assessment:
Scandal Potential:
★★☆☆☆
Disappointingly tame given the proximity of a radioactive storm, a single bed, and an entire shop of volatile ingredients. I would have expected at least one scorched garment, minor property damage, or a spell misfire fueled by hormones.
Emotional Severity:
★★★★☆
Make no mistake: while the kiss itself was tragically chaste, the underlying impact is considerably more dangerous. Sylvia is rattled, which is saying something for a woman who recently stared down Robin without blinking.
This is not casual. This is not a fluke. This is a fuse lit.
Projected Fallout:
- Temporary giddiness (ongoing, though well-defended with sarcasm)
- Gradual inability to focus on non-shark-related matters
- Likely bouts of existential dread ("what if he changes too much," "what if this doesn't work out," etc.)
- Eventual full emotional surrender OR mutually assured destruction (50/50 odds)
Mitigating Factors:
- Finn appears genuinely interested in being a Person Worthy of Sylvia™
- He makes decent meals under pressure (critical survival skill)
Aggravating Factors:
- Both parties are competitive, acerbic, and professionally overcommitted
- Prolonged exposure to each other increases risk of unscheduled emotional honesty
Personal Reflection:
I did, in fact, leave the premises to facilitate the possibility of such developments.
It is deeply satisfying to be right.
(Though next time, I expect a proper scandal. With overturned furniture and at least one minor alchemical explosion.)
Recommendation: Maintain a safe observational distance. Intervene only if Sylvia starts musing aloud about "what if it all goes wrong" etc. Otherwise, leave the mixture to simmer.
Lyra_Beldam on Chapter 1 Sat 28 Dec 2024 06:09AM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 1 Sun 29 Dec 2024 12:16AM UTC
Last Edited Sun 29 Dec 2024 12:30AM UTC
Comment Actions
Lyra_Beldam on Chapter 1 Sun 29 Dec 2024 12:31AM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 1 Sun 29 Dec 2024 12:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
Darkargo on Chapter 1 Wed 01 Jan 2025 04:22PM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 1 Wed 01 Jan 2025 05:51PM UTC
Comment Actions
Darkargo on Chapter 2 Sat 04 Jan 2025 03:54AM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 2 Tue 07 Jan 2025 04:29AM UTC
Comment Actions
Darkargo on Chapter 2 Tue 07 Jan 2025 01:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 2 Tue 07 Jan 2025 02:38PM UTC
Comment Actions
OpheliaTheDame13 on Chapter 14 Mon 16 Dec 2024 04:25AM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 14 Tue 17 Dec 2024 02:45AM UTC
Comment Actions
OpheliaTheDame13 on Chapter 14 Tue 17 Dec 2024 03:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 14 Tue 17 Dec 2024 03:58AM UTC
Comment Actions
BXE on Chapter 14 Sun 22 Dec 2024 08:48AM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 14 Sun 22 Dec 2024 02:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
OpheliaTheDame13 on Chapter 15 Tue 29 Apr 2025 11:25PM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 15 Wed 30 Apr 2025 04:19AM UTC
Comment Actions
OpheliaTheDame13 on Chapter 15 Wed 30 Apr 2025 04:51AM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 15 Wed 30 Apr 2025 12:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
OpheliaTheDame13 on Chapter 15 Wed 30 Apr 2025 06:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 15 Wed 30 Apr 2025 11:06PM UTC
Comment Actions
OpheliaTheDame13 on Chapter 15 Wed 30 Apr 2025 11:17PM UTC
Comment Actions
ripowal on Chapter 15 Wed 30 Apr 2025 11:52PM UTC
Comment Actions