Morning arrives with a pale winter light filtering through the tall glass panes of the Ravenshade residence, washing the polished wooden floor of Kael's room in a quiet, muted glow. The ticking of the brass clock on the wall feels unusually loud in the stillness as Kael opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a brief moment before sitting up. The events of the previous night linger faintly at the back of his mind, like ink that has not yet dried.
He finishes dressing in a neatly pressed Edwardian suit, the fabric smooth and dark, buttoning the waistcoat with practiced precision. The distant clatter of cutlery and low morning conversation drifts upward from the dining hall, carried by the scent of freshly baked bread and warm tea.
Downstairs, breakfast is already laid across the long dining table, porcelain plates and silver utensils arranged with quiet elegance. His family members sit in their usual places, exchanging light conversation beneath the soft glow of the chandelier. Kael takes his seat, offering a brief greeting before beginning his meal. The warmth of the tea seeps into his hands as he lifts the cup, though his mind seems elsewhere, focused on something far beyond the comfort of the room.
Once finished, he gently places the cup back onto its saucer.
"I will be heading to the port today," he tells them calmly.
There is nothing unusual in his tone, nothing that invites suspicion. A simple statement. An ordinary outing.
After a few brief acknowledgments from the table, he excuses himself and makes his way outside. The cold air greets him immediately upon stepping beyond the heavy entrance doors, carrying with it the faint hum of a city already awake.
A motorcar waits at the front drive.
Kael approaches it without hesitation, gloved hand resting briefly on the polished surface before he opens the door and settles inside. The engine rumbles to life after a moment, the sound low but steady, vibrating through the quiet morning atmosphere.
The iron gates of the estate slowly part.
The car rolls forward, leaving the stone pathway behind as it moves out toward the main road.
He does not drive toward the port.
Instead, the motorcar turns gradually, merging into the growing bustle of the marketplace district as Kael heads toward the market to buy something.
The motorcar moves steadily through the waking streets, its wheels gliding over the cobblestone roads still damp from the night's frost. Horse drawn carriages pass by from time to time, their drivers wrapped in heavy coats, the soft clatter of hooves blending with the distant hum of early morning trade. Rows of Edwardian storefronts stretch along the roadside, their tall windows framed with carved wood and polished brass fixtures that catch the pale sunlight.
Kael keeps his gaze forward.
The further he drives, the denser the surroundings become. The scent of coal smoke and varnished timber slowly gives way to something sharper, cleaner. The light itself begins to behave differently, bending and scattering across the glass displays that appear more frequently along the streets ahead.
He has arrived at the market of mirrors and crystals.
Even from a distance, the place seems to shimmer.
Shopfronts lined entirely with polished mirrors reflect fragments of passing figures, passing vehicles, passing sky. Hanging crystal ornaments sway gently above entryways, chiming faintly each time the winter breeze slips between the narrow lanes. Sunlight pours into the street only to fracture instantly, breaking into pale spectrums across windowpanes, glass cases, and suspended prisms that glint like captured frost.
Kael slows the motorcar before bringing it to a stop along the side of the street.
The moment he steps out, the air feels colder here, though it carries a certain stillness beneath the quiet murmur of nearby merchants arranging their wares. Tall standing mirrors lean carefully against shop walls, their frames carved in intricate Edwardian designs. Crystal spheres rest upon velvet cushions inside display cases, reflecting distorted pieces of the world around them.
Every surface catches something.
Every surface returns something.
Without lingering, Kael begins to walk further into the market.
As he walks deeper into the market, the crowd begins to thin, replaced by quieter storefronts that deal not in vanity but in precision. The reflections grow sharper here. Less decorative. More exact.
Then Kael stops.
Before him stands a large mirror placed at the entrance of one of the shops, its tall frame carved from dark mahogany with floral Edwardian engravings curling along the edges like frozen vines. The glass is unnaturally clear, free from the soft distortions common in most household mirrors. It reflects him as though it intends to remember every detail.
For a brief moment, he simply looks at himself.
His posture.
His expression.
The set of his jaw beneath the morning light filtering through hanging crystal prisms overhead.
The reflection stares back with quiet stillness.
A faint sound of movement comes from within the shop, followed by the soft creak of wooden floorboards. The shopkeeper steps out from behind the hanging bead curtain that separates the storefront from the interior. He is an older man, dressed in a waistcoat and neatly pressed shirt, round spectacles resting low upon the bridge of his nose.
He approaches with a courteous incline of his head.
"Sir, what would you like? We have all kinds of mirrors available."
Kael turns slightly toward him.
"Actually, I do not require a mirror. I need a convex lens."
The shopkeeper's brows lift with mild interest, though his professional smile remains unchanged.
"Yes, sir, we have lenses as well. Please, do come inside and see which one you would prefer."
With that, he gestures toward the interior of the shop.
Kael steps inside the shop.
The air is cooler here, undisturbed by the bustle of the market outside. Glass shelves line the walls from end to end, each one neatly arranged with instruments that catch and fracture the light into pale ribbons across the wooden floor. Lenses of varying sizes rest in velvet-lined trays. Some are mounted in brass rings, others left bare with only thin protective rims.
He begins to look through them one by one.
There are concave lenses, thin at the center and thicker toward the edges. These lenses cause light rays passing through them to diverge outward. They are commonly used to spread light or correct short-sighted vision.
Beside them lie convex lenses, shaped in the opposite manner, thick at the center and gradually thinning toward the edges. These lenses converge incoming light rays toward a single focal point, making them useful for magnification and focusing purposes.
Further along the shelf are plano-concave lenses, flat on one side and curved inward on the other. These also diverge light but do so with greater directional control due to the presence of the plane surface.
Next to them rest plano-convex lenses, flat on one side and curved outward on the other. These are designed to converge light rays with minimal spherical distortion and are often used in optical instruments requiring precision.
Kael's gaze moves slowly across the arrangement until it stops.
There, in a narrow velvet slot, lies a simple convex lens.
Its surface curves gently outward on both sides, its edges noticeably thinner compared to the slight bulge at the center. Even beneath the shop's dim interior lighting, its polished surface refracts the glow of the hanging lamps into faint halos.
He picks it up.
The glass is cool to the touch.
Turning toward the shopkeeper, he asks, "What is the price of this lens?"
The old man glances at it briefly before replying,
"This lens costs two and half Frynks."
In the Kingdom of Eryndor, Frynks are minted from aluminium and copper. An aluminium coin represents one full Frynk, while a copper coin is valued at a quarter of a Frynk, commonly referred to as a Soli Frynk.
Kael slips his hand into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out a worn leather wallet.
The material creases softly as he opens it. Inside, neatly arranged within stitched compartments, lie several coins that glint faintly beneath the shop's muted lamplight. He takes out two aluminium coins and two copper coins, their circular surfaces cold against his fingertips.
Each coin bears the finely pressed faces of two human figures turned away from one another, gazing in opposite directions as though bound to separate horizons. Around the edges run delicate embroidery-like engravings that form looping ornamental patterns.
On the aluminium coins, the word Frynk is inscribed beneath the twin profiles.
On the copper coins, smaller in value yet identical in design, the inscription reads Soli Frynk.
He places them gently onto the wooden counter.
The faint metallic clink settles into the quiet of the shop.
The old man reaches forward, gathering the coins into his palm before giving a small nod. He then takes the selected convex lens and begins wrapping it with practiced care in a sheet of thin brown paper. The paper crinkles softly as he folds it over the curved glass, tucking in the edges with deliberate precision until the lens is completely concealed within a compact parcel.
He extends it toward Kael.
Kael accepts it with both hands.
"Thank you," he says.
The old man smiles faintly and replies,
"Do come again."
The small bell above the shop door gives a soft metallic chime as Kael steps outside.
The wrapped convex lens rests securely in his hand, its paper cover rustling faintly each time his fingers adjust their grip. A stream of cool morning air brushes past him the moment he leaves the warmth of the shop interior, carrying with it the mingled scents of polished wood, carriage oil, and distant sea salt drifting in from the port.
He pauses for a brief second at the threshold before stepping down onto the cobbled street.
The market continues to move around him in a steady, unbroken rhythm. Shopfronts gleam with panes of glass displaying crystal ornaments, mirrors framed in carved walnut, and various optical instruments that catch and scatter the pale daylight. Gentle murmurs of conversation mix with the slow rolling of carriage wheels and the occasional sharp clatter of hooves striking stone.
Holding the parcel at his side, Kael begins walking again along the street, his footsteps measured as he moves deeper into the bustling Edwardian market.
As Kael continues walking along the cobbled street, the quiet rhythm of his footsteps is gradually swallowed by the rising chorus of voices around him.
Shopkeepers stand at the edges of their storefronts like sentinels of commerce, each one calling out in practiced tones that carry across the narrow lanes of the market. Their voices overlap one another, weaving into a restless hum that seems to ripple through the air.
"Finest crystalware, just arrived this morning!"
"Imported mirrors from the western provinces, flawless finish!"
"Polishing kits, sir! Your instruments will shine like new!"
Some gesture animatedly toward passing patrons, holding up their wares for inspection. Others lean slightly forward, hopeful eyes scanning the crowd for anyone who might slow their pace even by a fraction.
A few of them turn their attention toward Kael as he passes.
"Sir, care to try our newest optical frames?"
"Precision-crafted lenses, guaranteed clarity!"
"Elegant glasswork, sir, take a look!"
Their invitations follow him for several steps before fading behind as he moves on, the wrapped lens still held firmly in his hand while the market's eager voices continue to rise and fall around him like the tide.
Their calls continue to trail after him, stretching thin across the moving crowd.
Kael slows just slightly as one particularly insistent vendor steps half a pace forward, presenting a velvet-lined case of polished optical pieces. A few others nearby seize the moment, their offers quickly stacking one atop another in eager succession.
He turns his head toward them with composed courtesy, his gloved hand lightly adjusting the paper-wrapped parcel he carries.
"If I needed anything, I would certainly have purchased it," he says in a calm, even tone. "But I have already acquired what I came for. So, I am sorry."
There is no irritation in his voice, only a restrained finality that settles the matter without inviting further persuasion.
Some of the shopkeepers nod in understanding, stepping back into their thresholds, while others simply shift their attention toward the next passerby drifting through the lantern-lit artery of the market.
Kael resumes his walk, the murmur of trade once again flowing behind him as though he had never interrupted its current.