—— ? ——

  Simon turned to see two tall figures. One he recognized—tall, glowing, beautiful. Counselor Serel released a soft glow that splashed across the shop.

  Next to her was an even taller figure, a Frost-kin. He was dressed in black interlaced with a dazzling white. His garb was pristine, sharp, and fancy. On his head, he wore a band of silver threads woven into a crown.

  His face was painted with disdain, his two large golden eyes boring into Simon and the tailor. The Frost-kin’s lips pulled into a sneer, revealing perfect, sharp, white teeth.

  "I see. Instead of dedicating your time to important matters, you deemed it appropriate to–" he waved at Simon in his ridiculous getup, “to dress this commoner in that."

  Simon’s eyes flicked to Serel, who was a pace behind the angry Frost-kin. Her eyes radiated amusement and intense fascination as they dissected Simon. He quickly averted his eyes and wondered if it was possible to get whisked away to a second integration. Anything to escape this bunny suit and the awkward ass situation.

  The tailor Emrick took the King’s comment in stride. He scowled at him, then turned to Serel.

  “Counselor Serel.” He nodded.

  “Counselor Emrick.” She bobbed her head, then turned back to studying Simon’s suit.

  "You haven't answered my question, Counselor." The angry Frost-kin spat, the word coming out like had gargled garbage.

  Emrick sighed. "King Kranofis, I understand the urgency and importance of your request."

  “If you underst–”

  “I wasn’t finished.” Emrick cut in, causing visible rage to boil on the Frost-kin’s face. Emrick continued, ignoring him. “While I understand the urgency and importance, it doesn’t change the fact it wasn’t within my abilities to achieve.”

  The king scoffed, taking another step forward. “I am beginning to see there are many things that are beyond your ability.”

  Emrick’s lips tightened and his eyes tinged dangerously at the tall frost-kin looming over him. A quiet vibration filled the shop as one of Emrick’s silvery strings grew tighter.

  “You asked to fulfill this request, but that implies you remember what it is–a request.” Emrick said, his voice cold and taut.

  Serel glided in between the two.

  “Let’s take a moment, shall we?” Her soft but ringing words cut between them. “Emrick, did I hear you correctly? You said it wasn’t within your abilities? Has that changed?” Her brow raised in question as she glanced between the two.

  For the first time since the two had entered, Emrick gave a small smile. "If the king had given me a few moments–instead of coming into my shop and immediately accusing me of laying his project to the side–then I may have explained.”

  Kranofis gave the tailor an icy stare but then glanced at Serel. After a heartbeat, he took a step back.

  Emrick’s stare did not leave the Frost-kin. “Would you like me to explain my purpose in building absurdities such as this?” He gestured over to Simon. "Or would you like to keep accusing me of being insufficient, inadequate, and ill-fitted to do your request?

  Emrick crossed his arms, his eyes steel.

  "You are welcome to find another tailor who would be capable of fulfilling your request. But I must say–good luck."

  Kranofis’s blue-tinged skin around his neck bulged, and Simon swore his teeth might crack.

  "Fine. Explain yourself, Councilor Emrick." Kranofis hissed, giving a curt nod.

  Emrick, satisfied, continued. "As some in the room may not know, the king's request is for me to create what their people call Frost Sails."

  He strode across the room and opened a box, retrieving a blue crystalline cloth. "Now, the concept is understandably complex. The inscriptions and concepts that your shamans have given me took me many weeks to understand.”

  Emrick unfurled the cloth to reveal complex geometric symbols stitched in gold covering the crystalline cloth.

  “But I was able to grasp their purpose. The problem is that your shamans were attempting to bend the rules of magic in this world to their principles. In doing so, they attempted to make the magic of our new world bend to that of the old.”

  He paused and looked at Kranofis. “Would it be incorrect to say that the runes and spellcraft of these frost sails harvest the essence of the icy winds of your world?”

  Kranofis snorted. “An ignorant explanation by a simpleton.”

  Emrick’s eye twitched, but he smiled a dangerous, tight expression that made the air in the shop hum. “Ignorant, perhaps. Yet here we are, standing in this simpleton’s shop, because none of your so-called masters could get their precious sails to capture a single ounce of magic.”

  A blast of cold pulsed from the frost-kin. Icy magic bled down his fingertips, spreading faintly through the air like mist. The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees, and Simon instinctively took a step back.

  “Gentlemen,” Serel said softly, the crystalline light from her skin brightening to cut through the growing chill. Her visage had taken on a serene radiance, each facet of her crystalline skin catching and refracting the pale light until the entire room seemed to breathe with calm. “If we could refrain from turning this shop into a battlefield," she continued, her tone as gentle as snowfall but carrying a weight that stilled both men.

  Kranofis exhaled slowly through his nose, twin plumes of frost curling upward. “Then speak, tailor. Prove you are not wasting my time.”

  Emrick inclined his head ever so slightly, his composure sharpening into something precise and deliberate. “The Frost Sails as you envision them will never function in this world. The laws here differ too greatly from the icy winds your people once harvested. To harness the new currents, I had to redesign the very concept.”

  He took a measured breath. “Your shamans assumed that the problem was the recreation of the runes within the cloth, and that was where they brought me in. However, despite my recreation and your runemages confirming I had reproduced them perfectly, the effect was not the same.”

  Kranofis folded his arms, his golden eyes narrowing to slits. Emrick pressed on.

  “Which led me to conclude that the method of harvesting mana from the cold itself is no longer applicable. So, I began to look elsewhere. If we were to succeed, I realized we would need to capture more than the rules of magic–we would need to capture the concept itself.”

  He gestured lightly, a thread of silver unwinding from his sleeve. “But how could that even be possible? My theory was simple: if I could somehow stitch the story that once defined the sails of your world into the fabric itself–if I could weave a tale that embodied that essence–then perhaps the material could remember what it was meant to do.”

  Emrick shook his head, seeming to laugh at himself. “An absurd concept.” His eyes shifted to Simon dressed in his bunny garments. “But then a stranger arrived in an absurd and spectacular fashion. When I heard others speak of his survival, of how he appeared draped in corpses and madness, I thought to myself, there is a story if ever one existed. A story strong enough to shape fabric.”

  Simon froze. “Wait. You used me for–”

  “Yes, yes,” Emrick interrupted, dismissing the protest with a flick of his wrist. “If I could weave his tale into armor, then maybe I could do the same with the Frost Sails. If it worked, then I could, in theory, capture the story of your people’s magic within a weave that functions in this new world.”

  Emrick’s eyes glittered. “Now, to your accusation, King Kranofis. The absurd garb that stands before you,” he gestured toward Simon’s grotesque outfit, “Is not a distraction from your request. It was the catalyst that will make your sails possible.”

  He pointed accusingly at the king.

  “So, before you accuse me again of idleness, perhaps you should ask your own shamans how much progress they’ve made. I would wager a substantial sum they have none. Would you care to make that bet?”

  Kranofis’s face darkened to a dangerous shade of blue-white. Serel’s crystalline light brightened again, diffusing the rising chill. “Emrick,” she warned softly.

  But Emrick ignored her, continuing with growing fire.

  “When your people brought me the inscriptions and diagrams, I was thrilled. The notion that cloth could harvest magic from the very chill itself fascinated me. I spent weeks dissecting the problem. I poured myself into the project. I used my time here, and in the system events to decipher it.”

  Emrick growled. “Your shamans confirmed my runes were flawless, yet nothing functioned. They grew frustrated and pushed the burden onto me. Despite that, I continued. Then you began to demand progress from me day after day. Demanding I invent a solution to a problem none of the frost-kin are capable of solving.”

  Before Kranofis could react, Emrick clapped his hands as a large grin split his face.

  “Despite attempt after attempt resulting in failure, I succeeded where your masters failed.” His triumphant voice rang out. “I have succeeded in weaving essence and story. With refinement, I can recreate your Frost Sails.”

  Silence followed, heavy and electric.

  Emrick’s voice softened, the edge replaced by weary defiance. “Now, Your Majesty, I could have told you all of this–would have told you all of this–had you given me the courtesy of finishing with my current work. Instead, you barge in again and again, undermining my work, my honor, and my patience. So I kindly ask that you leave. Go tell your people that I have found a potential solution. And unless you wish to hinder it, do not darken my doorway until I summon you.”

  The last words cracked like a whip.

  The Frost-kin King’s face went nearly purple with rage, his knuckles cracking as his fists balled. He and Emrick were locked in a nonverbal battle of wills as the air in the shop stilled.

  Finally, Kranofis swallowed, and his lips curved between a sneer and a smile.

  “I appreciate your efforts, Counselor Emrick. Good day.”

  He turned sharply, his steps echoing across the floor. The door slammed behind him, the bell above it giving a strangled chime.

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Serel exhaled, her light dimming to a soft, shimmering hue. “Counselor Emrick,” she said evenly, “was that necessary?”

  Emrick looked from the door to her. “No, but I'm tired of his charade with him.” He sighed. “He has stormed in here almost every day demanding I simply will the impossible into fabric.” Emrick shook his head.

  Serel folded her arms, crystalline facets refracting soft tones of violet and silver. “He’s still a king, Emrick.”

  “And I’m still a counselor,” he shot back, “one that has spent sleepless nights trying to solve his people’s problems while enduring frostbitten arrogance and hollow threats. Respect goes both ways.”

  Serel’s glow dimmed to a thoughtful hue. “It does. I appreciate your patience despite the troubles King Kranofis has brought to you. Their race's survival may depend on it.”

  Simon, who’d been quietly trying to look invisible through the entire argument, finally spoke. “Yeah, I gotta ask, what are Frost Sails, exactly?”

  Both counselors turned toward him as if just remembering the man in the corpse carpet was there. Amusement flickered between them as they took in his ridiculous getup.

  Emrick cleared his throat. “Right, yes. Frost Sails. Think of them as sails on a ship, but instead of wind, they capture magic. In their world, constant glacial winds carried vast reserves of a type of cold. Their sails harvested something from the winds to power everything their kind has made.” He let out a breath. “If it was merely to power their militaristic, or artistic might I would have given up on this request long ago.”

  Serel nodded, explaining further. “Their kind struggles with heat. While they are well suited to Varnholt Valley, King Kranofis was horrified to learn that some of the worlds joined in this integration were places of heat and flame.”

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  Emrick sighed. “Exactly. I might loathe that frosted tyrant, but I can’t ignore that what I build could save lives.”

  Simon scratched his chin. “But… Kaelalin and I just got back from a place that was basically on fire. Why didn’t she fall over? Is she not a Frost-kin? She sure looks like one.”

  Serel’s lips curved slightly. “Kaelalin’s bloodline is pure. She simply refused to accept her limits.”

  Emrick gave a low chuckle. “Refused is putting it mildly. The woman nearly killed herself for that heat-resistance skill. She and Brian built a chamber with the help of some of the smiths. Every day, she stepped inside, endured until her skin cracked and she nearly boiled, then crawled out and healed. Hour after hour, day after day.

  Serel let out a chiming laugh. “It was quite the sight when she triumphantly declared she had found the solution for her kind’s weakness.” She shook her head, lips curled in a smile. “King Kranofis was horrified when Brian and Her showed him how she had achieved it.”

  Emrick snorted. “I believe his visits increased and became more insistent from that day as well.”

  Serel smiled sadly. “Understandably so. The king fears others will follow her example. There are few who can survive what she endured. I believe many would die in the attempt.”

  Emrick nodded, his expression softening. “A fair fear. Even with her success, it’s not something that can be taught. Only survived. Kaelalin is too stubborn to see that distinction.”

  “Stubborn is an understatement.” Simon nodded. “Is borderline insanity a requirement to be a crafter? Starting to feel like it is.”

  Serel’s laughter rang like glass bells. “It does seem to be a common trait in Varnholt. Innovation here often walks the line between brilliance and madness.”

  Simon sighed. “Yeah, that tracks. Brian builds a fire chamber, Kaelalin volunteers to melt herself in it, and you,” he gestured at Emrick, “decide to make patchwork armor out of dead bunnies and trauma.”

  Emrick shrugged, a sly grin on his face, hands twitching. His threads moved through the shop in response, busily cleaning the detritus of his adjustments to the garb.

  Simon turned to Serel. “So. What’s your brand of crazy?”

  Her eyes drifted to Simon. "A fair question. I do believe this is the first time we've spoken at length outside of the council meetings."

  She paused as she considered his question, her perfect brow creasing in thought.

  Simon stared at the woman. She defied his expectations. Ever since he had met the race that was the Celestials, he had been awestruck by them.

  Even with the Frostkin and the Yoreboon walking around, there was something about the Celestials that just screamed not of Earth. Their presence was alien, but at the same time, pleasant.

  This set off alarm bells in Simon's mind. Like the feeling when you encounter a bright berry, mushroom, or other natural item. As if something that was made or evolved to have such beauty was hiding some type of danger or horror.

  To be fair, Serel being the main member of their race Simon had interacted with didn’t help. The woman was a bit terrifying. She was stern, well-spoken, and seemed to know of everything that happened around her. But the thing that struck him the most were her eyes. The gem-like pupils seemed to dive deep into his soul every time they looked at him. Every time he saw her looking at him, he had the distinct feeling that she was analyzing, weighing, and making choices and decisions about his very existence.

  In true form, Simon decided to voice his thoughts. "That's right. You know, has anybody ever told you that you come off as extremely intimidating?"

  Serel’s brow arched, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across her face. “Intimidating? I’ve been called that. However, most go with radiant, commanding, or stunning.”

  Simon shrugged. “It’s the eyes. You look at people like you’re deciding if they’re worth keeping.”

  Emrick snorted behind him. “Rude as he is uncultured,” he muttered under his breath.

  Serel’s crystalline skin shimmered as she tilted her head. “You are correct, Simon Starfall. I do watch closely. Observation is… part of my craft.”

  “Oh?” Simon asked warily. “And what craft is that?”

  Her lips curved in a soft, knowing smile. “Before the Integration, I was known among my people as a Guardian of the Final Ray.” She gestured lightly to herself, facets catching the ambient light. “Each Celestial carries a unique luminance. What others see as color, we see as identity. No two lights are ever the same. When one of us fades, fragments of that light remain, scattered and fragile.”

  Her tone was gentle. “My role was to gather those remnants and preserve them. To capture a being’s final glow before it vanished completely.”

  Serel tapped her lips thoughtfully. “You might call me a sculptor of light.”

  Simon tilted his head. “How does that even work?”

  She raised her arm, light glinting across the subtle crystalline facets beneath her skin. “As you can see, we bear structures within us, like living gemstones. When one of us fades, fragments of that remain. I collect those pieces, strands of hair, sometimes cherished belongings, and shape them into a sculpture that captures who that person was. A memorial for others to remember what’s gone.”

  Simon blinked slowly, processing that. “So… you’re a taxidermist?”

  Her perfect smile froze. “That is not the word I would use.”

  Behind him, Emrick let out a choking laugh. “Oh, by the stars…”

  Serel’s composure returned, but her voice carried a faint edge of wounded pride. “We preserve light, not flesh,” she said evenly. “There is reverence in remembrance.”

  Emrick was still laughing behind his hand. “Reverence, yes, but you have to admit, his phrasing paints quite the picture.”

  Serel shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

  Simon cleared his throat. “Okay, that’s… an interesting profession, but I’ve mostly seen you doing the council. How does someone go from memorial artist to politician?”

  Serel smirked, her gemlike eyes glinting. “A fair question. When you spend your days working with the remains of others, you uncover… truths. Lies. Secrets best left unspoken. Every commission revealed something: the lies people told for love, the guilt they tried to bury, the stories they wanted remembered instead of the truth.”

  Serel’s smile softened, though the gleam in her eyes remained sharp. “And over the years, I found myself entangled in those secrets. It wasn’t enough to preserve the echoes of those who had passed–I wanted to shape the world they left behind.”

  She clasped her hands lightly, her voice lowering. “I began to believe that if the living learned to honor their final rays while they still burned, fewer lights would fade in vain. Intrigue and the courts, for all its ugliness, offered the means to do that.”

  She smiled.

  Simon just stared at her, thoughts grinding to a halt. Jesus Christ. She’s a taxidermist detective turned politician.

  Serel studied him with that slight smile, her discerning crystalline eyes delving into his soul.

  Note to self. Don’t piss off this woman. Simon thought as he shrunk away from her gaze.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, that’s… quite interesting…” Simon forced a nervous grin. “Speaking of interesting people, I should probably go find out where my Brian got to with that weird orb guy, Zerathis.”

  Serel nodded graciously. Emrick, meanwhile, was already rummaging through his shop. After a moment, he produced a small satchel and handed it over. “Here. Six sets of clothing. Try not to bleed on them–” He gave Simon a level stare. “--or set them on fire.”

  Simon took the bag with mock solemnity. “I’ll treat them with the same care I did the ones I got from the System.”

  Emrick sighed. “I’m charging you for future sets.”

  Simon’s grin widened. “Fair.” He hesitated, glancing down at the absurd patchwork outfit he still wore. “Uh… about the bunny one–”

  “Oh, you can keep those,” Emrick interrupted quickly. “They are made for you, and the result has been beyond my expectations. I only ask, if you ever decide to discard them, that they be returned to me instead.”

  “Right. Yeah. Good.” Simon looked around the room, desperately hoping there was a place to change before he ran across the city looking like a murderer in PJs. His eyes passed over the mirror, catching Serel watching him with that same unreadable, crystalline gaze. He flushed.

  Yeah, ain't no way I’m changing here.

  “Yeah, I think I’ll just… head out.” He nodded to both of them. “Thanks again, Emrick. For the clothes. While not exactly my style, I can’t argue with the results.”

  As he moved to the door, the two large ears on his head bobbed and swayed. Behind him, he heard a stifled laugh from Serel. He quickly hurried out the door, the bell chiming.

  Within seconds of walking down the street, he was met with dozens of stares. He gave a nervous wave, which resulted in everyone near him quickly averting their gazes and giving him a wide berth.

  Yep, this sucks. I am never wearing this in town again. He promised himself as he made his way through the streets.

  Frustratingly, as he walked, he noticed how good the garb–the bunny suit—felt to move in.

  Of course, it's absolutely comfortable. Why Emrick?! I can’t even tell I’m wearing it.

  He stretched and contorted his body, then took long steps. With each step, it felt like hidden springs propelled him forward.

  This is bullshit. Now, where the hell is Brian’s lab?

  —— ? ——

  Serel watched the door shut behind Simon, the absurdly dressed stranger vanishing into the street. “He’s a fascinating one,” she murmured. “And bold, to parade that outfit in daylight.”

  Emrick flexed his fingers, threads flashing through the air to tidy his workspace. “Bold or stupid. Hard to tell. Still—if every project paid off like that monstrosity, I’d make a hundred of them.”

  Serel’s eyes narrowed. “That good of a result?”

  He gave a sly smile. “Beyond expectations.”

  She said nothing more. Emrick’s craft was his religion; pressing him would get her nowhere.

  When he finished cleaning, he crossed his arms. “Now, Counselor Serel. What brings the Shadow of the Council to my humble shop?”

  Serel scoffed. “Is that really what they call me now?”

  “Among kinder nicknames, yes,” Emrick replied. “You always seem to have your hand in everyone’s business. Makes me wonder what intrigue you’re dragging me into this time.”

  He flicked his fingers, pulling two stools and a table into place with invisible threads. Serel sat opposite him, her glow soft and measured.

  “Let’s skip the pleasantries,” she said. “It’s a no-tea conversation.”

  Emrick’s smile faded, the tea pot that was halfway to the table moved sadly into the back of the shop.

  Serel drew a small bag from her robes. It was woven with a material that looked like bandages. The contents clinked with the sound of crystal.

  Emrick frowned. “That’s a lot of aether crystals.”

  “It is,” Serel replied. “And they’re not from me. They’re from Counselor Marden.”

  Emrick’s expression soured immediately. “What does that vulture want?”

  Serel folded her hands. “He claims to be funding the completion of the Identify quest. He’s gathered a significant supply of crystals and asked that I deliver them to you directly.”

  Emrick’s threads stilled. “And you’re telling me this privately because…?”

  “Because Marden also mentioned that they should be given to an individual who acquired the Discerning Eye Skill from the Hub.”

  Emrick froze, then groaned. “So he knows. Of course he does. Those healing potions of his always come with strings attached..” he hung his head. “...and apparently, insight.”

  Serel grimaced. “I cannot blame you for seeking out those infused potions from him. That tunnel accident that crushed your hand would have taken weeks to recover otherwise.”

  “That’s time we simply just don’t have.” Emrick nodded gravely. “I had my suspicions that those miraculous potions came with an unseen price. To peer into one's private affairs…” he sighed. “So, what does the greedy creature want in return?”

  Serel leaned back in her chair, her face a complex mask of thought. “He’s made his terms simple. He wants you to finish upgrading Discerning Eye so that the town can unlock Identify, but insists he be the one to present it publicly.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” she said. “He claims it’s to regain goodwill.”

  Emrick snorted. “That man wouldn’t sneeze without a scheme. Still… if he wants to pay for it, I can’t deny the benefit to the town.”

  Serel’s crystalline light flickered faintly. “I agree. It’s too generous to refuse, even if his motives aren’t pure.” Her graceful fingers tapped her lips. “I have spent hours trying to discern his schemes, but…” her words trailed off.

  “No luck?”

  She shook her head. “It just can’t see what he would possibly gain besides what he claims.”

  Emrick rubbed his temple. “Why not come to me himself?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You banned him from your shop after the fur incident, remember?”

  Emrick sighed. “Right. That’s a fair point.” He met Serel's gaze, the two falling into thoughtful silence.

  Finally, Serel stood, smoothing her robes. “Let us proceed quietly. Let him have his reveal. The quest’s completion will help everyone in Varnholt.”

  Emrick nodded reluctantly. “Unfortunately, I agree.”

  “Thank you for your time, Councilor Emrick.” she smiled at him.

  Emrick smiled back as he stood. “For what it’s worth, Councilor Serel, I do appreciate the work you do. Others may have their opinions, but I see how you keep everyone civil and pushing forward.”

  Serel paused at the door, turning slightly. Her crystalline glow caught the edge of the windows, scattering soft colors across the room. “Someone has to, Emrick. Stars know you and Kurda make it difficult enough.”

  Emrick crossed his arms. “How is that moron’s rash desire to fight with me my fault?”

  Serel tilted her head slightly, that knowing glimmer back in her eyes. “I’m sure Kurda will say something similar at our meeting.”

  Emrick blinked. “Meeting?”

  Serel smiled, the kind that said she already knew what he would say next. “Yes, that's my next stop this morning.”

  Emrick studied her. “Did Kranofis tell you he planned to visit my shop after your meeting?”

  Serel gave him an innocent look. “He did not. I simply joined him for a morning walk after our discussion.”

  Emrick rubbed his temple. “Shadow of the Council, indeed,” he muttered, twitching his hand.

  From the dim corners of the shop, an expertly tailored burgundy coat lifted itself free of a hanger and settled onto his shoulders.

  “Then shall I join your morning walk?” he asked with a weary sigh.

  Serel’s smile deepened, faint amusement glittering in her shining eyes. “That would be delightful. What a wonderful set of coincidences this morning. I’m sure you, Kurda and I will have much to speak about.”

  Emrick rolled his eyes. “How fortunate you will be there to mediate.” A thread fastened the last button of his coat, then whipped forward and held the door for the Celestial.

  “After you.”

  Serel inclined her head gracefully, and Emrick followed her out the door.

  —— ? ——

  Several minutes later, Emrick’s shop was filled with a heavy, deliberate stillness.

  Though cluttered at first glance, with spools of thread, scraps of fur, and rough-cut cloth scattered across tables,everything in the shop had its place. Needles sat stabbed into a small pincushion like a tiny metal forest, thread spools arranged by hue and tension. A curated chaos.

  Emrick’s precision lingered even in his absence. The scent of leather and dye mixed faintly with cold mountain air drifting through the crack beneath the door.

  On the center table, the bag Serel had left sat untouched, its strange, bandage-like fabric lit by the filtered morning light.

  For a long moment, nothing stirred.

  Then the bag shifted, the folds of bandage contorting and shifting. Its surface tightened and eased. The bandages formed into a sly curve.

  A smile in the stillness.

  For a breath, it lingered. Then the folds loosened. The smile faded, and the bag returned to mundanity.

  —— ? ——

  — AUTHOR NOTICE —

  This chapter ended up being far longer then normal... But I think it's great this way.

  Anyways,

  Thanks for reading!

  ~TheBusyBard

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