The faint morning light leaked through the shutters of the Widow Halley's cottage, but Elena Virelle was already wide awake—cramped into a small chair at the kitchen table with a scroll spread before her and two ink-stained fingers poking at her temple.
She had been up since before dawn, trying to decipher the script of a borrowed manuscript titled The Foundations of Aether Conduction—a magical primer she had traded two shifts' worth of dish-scrubbing for. The letters shimmered faintly, twisting on the page the longer she stared.
"Are you still trying to read that?" Mira yawned, stepping into the kitchen, already dressed in her usual deep green healer's apprentice robe. "It's written in High Arcanic. You'd need at least four months of formal tutoring just to make out the titles."
Elena groaned. "Of course it is. Do you know how much it costs to get that tutoring?"
"Depends. If you go through the Academy? Fifteen silver crowns per course. But if you can find a back-alley mage desperate enough for coin, maybe one silver per session. Still adds up, though."
"I barely made four copper crowns last week. I might need to start offering blood."
"Please don't," Mira said seriously. "There's a whole submarket for that. It's not regulated. You might end up in a necromancer's pantry."
Elena blinked. "That… was oddly specific."
Mira poured water into a clay kettle, her expression unreadable. "You'd be surprised what people will buy. Or sell."
They sat in silence as the water boiled. Elena traced her finger along the first line of the magical scroll again. She didn't know how to cast a spell yet—not even a spark—but something in her gut told her magic was important to her. More than just for convenience or safety.
It felt tied to who she really was. Whoever that was.
---
By late morning, Elena was back at the inn, wiping down sticky tables while eavesdropping on passing conversations. This, too, had become part of her daily "education." If she couldn't afford books or formal lessons, she'd listen.
"…third caravan this week hit by bandits north of the marsh road…"
"…they're hiring guards for two silver a day, plus food, if you've got a weapon and two hands…"
"…new tax on grain's going to crush the western quarter, mark my words…"
She stored each nugget like precious coin in her head. Every conversation offered glimpses into the bigger world—economics, danger zones, job markets, rumors of unrest.
When midday arrived, she pocketed her half-day pay—three copper crowns and a leftover roll of barley bread—and headed back to Mira's place.
---
That afternoon, Elena wandered to the small public square just off the old marketplace, where a scribe was setting up a makeshift lecture platform. A hand-painted sign read:
"Introduction to Glyph Reading: 1 Copper Admission"
This was more her speed.
She scrambled for a seat on the stone ledge. The scribe, a balding man with half-moon glasses and suspiciously well-manicured hands, began by holding up a series of wooden placards painted with arcane symbols.
"These are base glyphs," he announced. "The building blocks of nearly all magical inscriptions. Learn these, and you can decode wards, identify enchantments, and possibly—if you don't die in the process—disable traps."
Elena perked up.
The man continued, voice theatrical, sweeping his hand with flair. "The first glyph is Solum—it represents grounding, stone, resistance. Very common on buildings to reinforce their foundation. And also in prison cells."
He flipped the placard. "Next, Ignis. You can guess what that one does."
Elena copied each glyph into her borrowed notebook with Mira's leftover ink. The lines weren't perfect, but she got the idea. As the lecture went on, she felt something strange stirring—an almost familiar pull at the base of her spine, like a forgotten memory echoing through her bones.
When the scribe brought out a demonstration crystal etched with glowing runes, Elena's breath caught.
She recognized one of the glyphs. Not from the lecture—but from the mysterious note she had received days ago.
"…Seek the conduit. When the mark glows, return to the lake…"
That same glyph—etched faintly into the upper corner of the note—now pulsed softly on the demonstration crystal.
She leaned forward, heart thumping.
After the lecture ended, she waited for the crowd to disperse before quietly approaching the platform.
"Excuse me," she said. "That glyph—on the last crystal. What does it mean?"
The scribe raised an eyebrow. "Seraphim. Old word. Not commonly used in modern scripting. It implies elevation, or sometimes divine resonance. Mostly ceremonial. Not something you see outside of shrines or ancient wards."
Elena nodded slowly, mind racing.
So the note wasn't just poetic—it was magical. Maybe even ancient.
"I—thank you," she said, backing away with her notebook clutched tightly.
Her steps carried her not back to Mira's, but to the lake. The lake from her earliest days here.
The wind was cooler now, the breeze rippling the surface in pale, shifting lines. She crouched near the shore and unfolded the note again, staring at the glyph. Just paper and ink. No glow.
Not yet.
But she could feel it now—like a current beneath her skin. The beginnings of something larger.
---
That evening, Elena returned to Widow Halley's cottage late, having skipped supper. She was muddy, tired, and slightly sunburned—but grinning.
She now knew ten base glyphs, recognized a symbol from the mysterious note, and had seen a magic crystal pulse with the same script.
More than that, she had made her first deliberate investment in her future.
Tomorrow, she'd go to the cheaper ink stalls and buy materials to practice drawing glyphs. That would set her back four to five copper crowns—nearly a whole day's wage.
But maybe… just maybe… it would be worth it.
"Did you run through a swamp?" Mira asked as Elena dragged herself in.
"No," Elena said cheerfully. "But I'm thinking of enrolling in the cheapest fake magic school in town. One copper per lecture. It's a steal."
Mira blinked. "Are you having a heatstroke?"
"Maybe! But if I survive, I might be able to read magic traps someday. That's got to be worth at least ten silver a month."
Mira considered this, then shrugged. "Fair point. Want tea?"
"Do we have the fancy kind?"
"We have boiled leaf water."
"…good enough."
They clinked mismatched mugs and drank, steam curling into the candlelight.
The road to power, Elena mused, might begin not with a staff or a dragon—but with cheap ink, lecture notes, and boiled leaf water.
And she was okay with that.
---
The Price of Bread and Other Life-Changing Discoveries
Elena Virelle had never expected a loaf of bread to bring her such existential distress.
It was a beautiful morning in Crow's End—well, as beautiful as the smog-draped, soot-speckled corner of Theralis could be. She stood at the market's edge, gripping her coin pouch like it might run away. After nearly two weeks of sorting potions, repairing ledgers, and asking "excuse me, how much is this?" in increasingly confident Aetherian, she finally had some crowns of her own.
Twenty-eight copper crowns. Earned, not gifted. Honest pay from Mistress Maelia's apothecary work.
Elena felt oddly proud and faintly panicked.
Bread came first. She'd skipped breakfast to save her last boiled egg for tomorrow. Food prices, she had learned, could be volatile—especially with the merchant barge delayed due to bandits upriver. Again.
The first stall she approached sold fresh rye loaves for 6 copper crowns each.
"Six?" Elena blurted before she could stop herself.
The baker, a grizzled man with flour-dusted eyebrows and a missing thumb, gave her a tired look. "Aye. And don't ask for a discount unless yer bringin' me news that the Grain Guild stopped gouging."
Elena opened her pouch. Buying a loaf would leave her with 22 copper. She wanted to protest—back home, you could get a whole meal for this much—but she caught herself.
This wasn't Earth. And this bread wasn't sliced, branded, or full of preservatives. It was warm, crusty, and lovingly made. Still, her wallet winced.
"I'll take a half-loaf," she said. That cost 3 copper crowns. A modest decision, but her stomach sulked anyway.
She moved through the market with new eyes. Salted fish? 4 copper per fillet. Dried fruit? 2 to 3 copper per pouch, depending on the vendor's mood. A single smoked sausage stick was 5 copper crowns, and she caught a child quietly replacing it after seeing the price.
At the edge of the square, Elena found a small bookseller's stall. Her heart did a flip. Books here were prohibitively expensive—most cost between 15 to 30 silver crowns, far out of her league.
But this vendor had a crate labeled "USED, DAMP, POSSIBLY CURSED" with a sign beneath that read: All for 5 copper each. No refunds.
"I respect the honesty," she murmured.
After rifling through mildewed tomes with titles like The Principled Poisoner's Primer and A Treatise on Moderately Useful Hexes, Elena found one surprisingly intact book: Foundations of Local Governance and Civil Taxation in the Kingdom of Theralis (Revised Edition).
She pounced.
As she paid, the vendor—a bored half-elf with ink-stained fingers—raised a brow. "You sure? That one's mostly tax law and the occasional footnote on why ducal inheritance is a nightmare."
"That sounds perfect," Elena replied.
Back at the apothecary, she huddled behind the counter during a quiet hour, devouring the book between customer visits. The chapter on municipal tax structures was… oddly thrilling.
Apparently, most towns and boroughs in Theralis were semi-autonomous, paying a yearly land levy in gold crowns to the crown while collecting taxes locally in silver and copper. Guilds had their own tariffs, and independent merchants like Maelia were taxed based on property, magic use licenses, and whether they used enchanted pest deterrents.
There was even a footnote about a case where a street magician was fined 12 silver crowns for conjuring doves without proper aviary registration.
Elena giggled.
"Something funny, girl?" Maelia asked, appearing behind her with a satchel of fresh herbs.
Elena sat straighter. "Sorry, Mistress. Just… reading about taxation. It's—uh, entertaining?"
Maelia blinked. "You're a strange one."
"I get that a lot."
Maelia dropped the satchel with a sigh. "Well, if you like taxes so much, you can help me figure out my quarterly estimates. Council raised the potion-licensing fee again, those bloody toads."
Elena's eyes lit up. "Gladly!"
—
That afternoon was spent knee-deep in dusty ledgers, receipts, and potion receipts scribbled in Maelia's untamed handwriting.
The results weren't pretty.
"You're being overcharged by at least 2 silver crowns on your last two shipment taxes," Elena said.
Maelia cursed, dug out an old invoice, and muttered darkly. "That damn scribe again. He rounds up every time."
"Should I prepare a complaint letter?"
Maelia gave her a sideways glance. "You'd do that?"
"I already drafted one." Elena pulled it from her notebook.
Maelia stared, then burst into laughter. "You really are the strangest apprentice I've ever had."
But she accepted the letter.
—
Later that night, as Elena re-copied inventory labels by candlelight, she found her mind drifting. Not to taxes or bread—but to the note she'd found behind the apothecary bookshelf over a week ago.
It was easy to forget about amid measuring powders and dodging herbal explosions. But it had been bothering her.
The message was faint, scrawled in a curling, hurried hand: "If you remember the sea, seek the third arch under the shattered bridge. Bring light."
She had yet to mention it to Maelia. Not out of secrecy—just… uncertainty.
That note felt personal. Haunting. Like a thread tied around her mind. She couldn't explain it, but she felt that if she tugged on it, the world might unravel.
"Bring light," she murmured.
She stared at the flame flickering on her desk.
Maybe… soon.
—
Economics Summary (for Elena's day):
Earnings: 28 copper crowns from two weeks of work.
Expenses:
Half loaf of bread – 3 copper crowns
Used book (possibly cursed) – 5 copper crowns
Total spent: 8 copper crowns
Remaining: 20 copper crowns
Job Earnings Insight:
Elena earns about 2 copper crowns per day (apprentice rate).
A skilled potion-maker like Maelia likely earns 50–80 silver crowns per month, depending on taxes, demand, and Guild rates.
Food inflation due to barge delays is causing a 10–20% spike in staple goods.
—
Elena closed the ledgers, massaged her ink-stained fingers, and looked toward the window. Distant voices echoed through the alleyways, and smoke curled lazily from chimneys.
Tomorrow, she'd explore the shattered bridge.
For now, though, she'd rest—with a belly only half-full of bread, a brain overloaded with taxes, and a heart strangely steady.
Because even if she couldn't yet remember the sea…
She had her feet planted in this world. And she was learning to swim.
---
[End of Chapter 19.]