With Xanthia between us, we headed down the hill.

  The cobbled way wound through woodlands on both sides—my prime hunting ground.

  My satchel rested against my chest as I walked.

  Our cheerful chatter mingled with the rhythm of our footsteps along the winding road until Xanthia suddenly glanced around.

  Her wavy tangerine hair swayed as she turned, emerald eyes narrowing.

  “Moss-hopper!”

  She pointed at what looked like a lump of rock.

  “Fantastic discovery, Tia!”

  Thomas exclaimed, his voice booming as he leaned forward, knapsack thumping lightly against his back.

  Without hesitation, I grabbed a palm-sized stone and hurled it with all my might.

  The moss-hopper let out a high-pitched shriek, tumbled, and lay motionless.

  “That’s a perfect shot, Allen! One swift motion!”

  Whooping in delight, Thomas sprinted toward the kill, boots skidding against loose gravel.

  “A helping hand here, Allen! It weighs a ton! We have a gargantuan kill!”

  He loved throwing around big words he’d picked up from tavern drunkards.

  Still, it did look sizeable even from here.

  “All thanks to you, Tia. Wait here.”

  I gently mussed her hair in praise.

  She made a small sound of protest, fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel, but didn’t pull away.

  Together, Thomas and I hefted the moss-hopper.

  I guessed the stone had critically broken its skull. Nice spot.

  No blood spilled; the wound was entirely internal—much easier to carry this way.

  A faint, earthy scent rose from the creature, damp moss and soil clinging thickly to its fur.

  The body was in perfect condition—the moss intact, thick and deep green.

  I had never seen such a dark shade before.

  Those caught in my traps were usually much smaller, their moss pale and thin.

  It was heavy, almost like a piglet.

  Either overconfident or unlucky, it had wandered into Tia’s gaze in broad daylight—unusual for moss-hoppers, typically timid and hidden among shrubs.

  I often relied on traps rather than stone throwing to catch them.

  We decided to take the moss-hopper to the Merchant Guild.

  The Apothecary Guild and Alchemy Guild always requested the moss, prized for its medicinal value.

  Merchants and craftsmen paid a fair price for the soft, resilient fur.

  We could earn some coin and still bring back a share of the meat.

  “No signs of those noisy chatter-wings recently, huh?”

  Thomas remarked, pressing a hand to his ear as he listened to the stillness of the woodlands.

  “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen the nut-hoarders leaping from tree to tree either,”

  I said, unsettled by their absence.

  “Hibernation?”

  Xanthia guessed, though her tone carried doubt.

  “Maybe it’s just too cold. Peace and quiet without those noisy birds.”

  Thomas shrugged it off, though unease lingered in my heart.

  We reached a vantage point where the dense woodlands abruptly ended.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Grassland stretched wide, dotted with farmsteads and orderly fields.

  Beyond lay bustling Delmar, sprawled in sunlight.

  The harbour teemed with life—vessels large and small drifting between docks and open sea.

  We’d grown used to the sight on our regular commute.

  We barely paused anymore, yet Xanthia still always stopped here, gazing at the endless horizon.

  “Oh well, let’s take a break.”

  Though we couldn’t read her face, we knew her well enough to set down the moss-hopper and rest beside her.

  Leaving the vantage point, we walked into North Gate Village.

  The fields lay dormant near winter, but the farmyards were anything but quiet.

  Villagers tended cattle and horses, repaired and polished tools, stacked fresh hay, and harvested root vegetables.

  “Everyone’s busy as a bee.”

  Thomas scanned around.

  Friendly villagers greeted us as we passed.

  “Good day, young lads! Howdy?”

  An old farmer called out near his farmhouse.

  “The kill is huge—you’ve got good skill. That size is rare. If you’re taking it to the Merchant Guild, hop on!”

  “…Good day, Poppy Rufus. Thank you so much.”

  The weight of the kill slowed us, so Rufus’ cart was a welcome surprise.

  We climbed aboard, laying the moss-hopper among crates of eggs, milk, butter, and cheese.

  The sharp scent of moss quickly gave way to warm dairy and hay.

  “Smells so good—this is heaven!”

  Thomas slumped onto the hay, brushing stray strands of hair from his face as he inhaled deeply.

  “Don’t fall asleep now, Thomas! We’re entering town soon.”

  The mules clattered down the road at remarkable speed, the cart creaking but steady.

  Bantering all the way, we reached Delmar through the North Gate just shy of noon.

  ??????????

  Poppy Rufus stopped the cart right in front of the Merchant Guild.

  “Here you go, my young lady!”

  He gently clasped Xanthia’s hand to help her down.

  “Thank you, Poppy.”

  Even the mute girl expressed her gratitude.

  Thomas and I laughed together as we thanked Rufus as well.

  “Ouch! I’m sorry, Tia.”

  “I’m sorry too, Tia!”

  As if reading our minds, she puffed her cheeks and rained small blows on us with her fists.

  They felt more like gentle taps than actual punches.

  Poppy Rufus guffawed, then took his leave to unload his produce at the warehouse behind the guild.

  We carried the moss-hopper inside, deciding to settle this matter before dropping Xanthia off at the shrine.

  The building was spacious.

  A low hum of conversation filled the hall—busy, but not noisy.

  Beneath it all lingered a faint, pleasant incense, clean and calming.

  The counters were full, so we waited.

  “My, my, what a big catch you’ve brought! A size like hen’s teeth—even in the royal capital!”

  The words came in a low, calculating tone from somewhere in the crowd.

  We turned.

  A nosy middle-aged man tipped his hat, seated with several acquaintances.

  He looked like a typical town merchant, offering a feigned friendly grin—though his gaze remained sharp.

  Even at our age, we weren’t fooled by self-invited strangers.

  I held my satchel tighter against my chest, scanning the hall for other shady figures.

  Xanthia slipped behind me, peeking out slightly, emerald eyes watching the group.

  Thomas straightened, one hand rubbing the back of his head as his knapsack shifted against his shoulder.

  We stayed silent, wary.

  Swindlers were few, but the world was full of unscrupulous merchants.

  Losing coin was frustrating; being sold into slavery in a distant land was far worse.

  Our tension was evident.

  Though the man kept his tone subdued, its calculating edge carried farther than intended, drawing attention—including from guild staff.

  Soft murmurs rippled through the hall.

  The merchant was unfamiliar, unrecognized, pushing him deeper into suspicion.

  His companions exchanged glances but stayed silent, leaving him alone under the crowd’s stares.

  Panicked, he waved his hands dismissively.

  “No, no! It’s not what you think! I’m a proper merchant from the royal city!”

  The gazes lingered.

  At his wit’s end, he sighed and produced a card from his finely tailored coat.

  Holding a shining silver card aloft, his voice wavering, he said,

  “I—I am a reputable Rank B merchant. This is my guild card!”

  Warmth spread through my chest as the commotion unfolded.

  For all the tension, the townsfolk’s quiet support reminded me of the lessons we’d carried since childhood.

  Ol’ Lucia had been more than a caregiver—she was someone to look up to.

  Strict, yet kind.

  She made sure we were never looked down upon.

  Now, as the crowd sided with us, it felt as if her tireless efforts had finally paid off.

  We stood with dignity—hand-me-down clothes clean, manners disciplined, honesty intact.

  Perhaps that was why the townsfolk supported us now.

  ??????????

  We sat on an exquisitely made full-leather bench, entirely covered by a thick, lustrous monster hide.

  The pelt was astonishingly soft beneath my fingertips.

  “I bet this cushion is filled with the finest moon swans’ down. O Mighty Lord Levia, I thank thee for bestowing upon me such a magnificent seat.”

  Thomas blabbered in a low, hurried tone, unable to hide his awe.

  I narrowed my eyes and shot him a silent glare.

  This isn’t the time for your orchestra—keep quiet.

  Xanthia sat rigid beside me, small fists clenched tightly in her dress, eyes fixed on empty air.

  Sorry, Tia. Your shrine visit had to be delayed.

  Why were we here—in the Private Audience Chamber of the Head of the Merchant Guild?

  A scream rose in my throat, but i swallowed it.

  I had never been so stressed.

  “Allen, look at that painting—the fruits look so juicy! Are you hungry? I feel like nibbling some bread.”

  Still hushed, Thomas was far from contained, brushing his hair back as his eyes darted around the room.

  Ugh, this idiot.

  Now he’d moved on to marvelling at the grand chandelier.

  I kept my face straight and impassive.

  Beneath the intricately crafted tea table, I clenched my fist until my nails dug in.

  Was this wretched tea table gilded with gold and silver?

  The room’s opulence was overwhelming.

  A faint dizziness struck me.

  Xanthia remained rigid as a doll.

  Thomas—I tuned him out completely.

  I scanned the room again.

  A glittering chandelier hung from the ceiling.

  A massive bookcase lined with volumes stretched across the wall.

  A grand writing desk dominated the centre.

  Lifelike portraits adorned the walls.

  A vast, hand-woven carpet covered the stone floor.

  Had all of Delmar’s wealth been gathered into this single chamber?

  I glanced at the guild staff nearby.

  Three experienced members were carefully inspecting our proud kill—the unusually large moss-hopper.

  Were you the true culprit here, moss-hopper?

  Was this your revenge on us?

  How in the world had things come to this?