Roland got home in the late afternoon with lead in his legs and the lingering ache of the crystal crate still lodged in his shoulders,stacked on top of hours bent over ledgers. When he opened the apartment door, he didn't even crave silence so much as a single moment where he could kick off his boots and stop hurrying.
The place smelled like food,simple, familiar,an instant promise that his mother was already back. When he stepped into the kitchen, he found her at the stove, stirring a pot in the same worn dress she'd owned for years, always clean and neatly kept.
"You're back," she said, turning with a small smile. "You look like it was a long day."
Roland returned the smile, more tired than usual, and dropped into a chair at the table.
"It was," he admitted. "I hauled cores to Hergan's forge, and then I had to catch up on the shop entries because there were more customers than they expected."
His mother nodded, listening closely, and didn't interrupt as he talked about the line outside the forge, the orders for fire-resistant weapons, and how everyone was talking about the Beast-rank dungeon that had appeared recently and thrown the whole district off rhythm.
"Mr. Klein says it's going to stay like this for a while," Roland added at the end. "That people are on edge and want to protect themselves before something goes wrong."
"No surprise," she replied calmly, ladling a bowl of warm food for him. "Times like these, everyone wants to feel like they did something,for themselves and for the people around them."
He was just finishing when the front door opened again. His father came in, clearly exhausted too, more hunched than usual, like the day's work had stamped itself into his back.
"Evening," he said, setting his tools against the wall and sitting heavily on the bench. "Looks like I'm not the only one coming home with nothing left."
They sat together at the table once dinner was ready. The lamplight filled the kitchen with a steady glow that made everything seem calmer than it really was,like the thick walls could hold back the outside world for a little while.
His mother set down their plates, adjusted her apron, and sat across from Roland, watching him now and then with that attentive, motherly look that caught fatigue even when he tried to hide it. His father leaned over his meal, eating slower than usual, like he didn't want to admit how much the day had taken out of him.
"So what'd you haul today that's got you walking like an old man?" his father asked at last, voice low,more concern than curiosity.
Roland nodded.
"Cores to Hergan's forge," he said. "Heavy, but I managed."
His mother's expression tightened just a little.
"You should say something when it's too much," she told him gently. "Work is one thing. Your health is another."
"He said it's just for now," Roland hurried to add. "With the Beast-rank dungeon, everyone's buried in work."
His father let out a quiet sigh and set his spoon down.
"Dungeons always complicate everything," he muttered. "Even for the people who never set foot inside them."
They ate in a comfortable silence,the kind that wasn't awkward, just familiar,until Roland, like he couldn't keep it in any longer, lifted his head and spoke with sudden energy.
"I saw Hergan forging a sword today," he said, excitement leaking into his voice despite himself. "Not like the way people talk about it at the market. It was… different. Every hammer strike had this strange energy to it. And the core,he set it in so it looked like the weapon's heart."
His father looked up, paying closer attention. His mother smiled softly, watching her son's eyes light up.
"And it worked?" his father asked.
"Yes," Roland answered without hesitation. "He just nodded and said it worked. That was it. No shouting, no fireworks. He just knew. I still don't get how he could tell the sword was good!"
"You've always liked watching things like that," his mother said warmly. "Even when you were little, you cared about how something works,not just that it works."
Roland smiled shyly, then seemed to remember something else.
"And when I went with Mr. Klein into the aristocrats' district…" he began, then hesitated. "I saw two people practicing wind magic. Just like that. One movement of a hand, and the air reacted like it was alive."
His mother's smile deepened at hearing him tell the story again.
His father, though, frowned.
"That's not for ordinary people," he said carefully,trying not to crush his son's spark, but unwilling to feed him illusions.
"I know," Roland said quickly. "I know it's not for me. But…" He searched for the words. "But when I watched it, it was beautiful. "
His mother reached across the table and laid her hand over his.
"Dreams aren't a bad thing," she said quietly. "Even if not all of them can come true."
His father looked at both of them, then sighed and nodded.
"Just remember who you are and where you stand," he added. "That doesn't mean you can't be curious about the world."
Something inside Roland settled. His parents weren't promising him the impossible,but their words didn't sound like a ban, either. They sounded like care.
They kept eating, talking about small things,his father's work, what his mother planned for tomorrow,and when dinner was over, Roland helped clear the table, feeling that warm, familiar certainty: the world might be full of magic, dungeons, and huge events, but here, in this small apartment, things still made sense.
***
Roland left home earlier than usual. Even though the day looked like any other, the city had been moving since dawn in a way that couldn't be ignored. The closer he got to the торговing district, the more often he passed people who didn't fit the normal morning flow.
Adventurers were everywhere.
They weren't gathered in one place or marching in a tight formation,just appearing alone, or in twos and threes, walking fast, talking under their breath, checking belts and straps, adjusting harnesses as if each of them needed to reassure themselves one more time that everything was there. That it would work when it mattered.
Roland found himself studying their gear without thinking. Months in Mr. Klein's shop had trained him to see items not as decoration, but as tools with specific functions,and prices. He spotted things he knew all too well.
One man wore a shoulder guard with a dim, reddish core fused into it,exactly the model they'd sold a few days ago as basic protection against high heat. Another had an amulet around his neck in a metal setting, thin grooves running from the center outward. Roland remembered that one from the shelf: a "breath stabilizer." Expensive, but priceless in dungeons with heavy air.
And then there were people whose equipment looked completely foreign to him.
A middle-aged woman walked with a staff of dark wood, a small crystal mounted at its tip pulsing irregularly as if reacting to something unseen. Roland couldn't remember ever seeing anything like it in the shop. Neither could he place the thick leather coat on a man nearby,its inner lining stitched with thin metallic threads in a pattern that looked more like a map than armor.
As he passed them, scraps of conversation floated into his ears.
"I'm telling you, the air burns your lungs," someone snapped. "If you don't have filters or an amulet, you're useless in ten minutes."
"And Halven still shove their brats in there," someone else shot back. "Young mages, zero real dungeon experience,and we're supposed to babysit them."
A few steps later, two older adventurers walked slower. One checked the clasp on his glove.
"Beast rank isn't a tragedy," he said quietly. "It's the fire that's the problem. Fire always does what it does."
"Better than a dragon-rank dungeon," came the answer. "At least we know what to expect."
Roland kept walking, absorbing it all without trying, feeling the city's rhythm changing. Ordinary residents stepped aside for armed, focused people who looked ready for anything. Even merchants opening their stalls watched them with a mix of hope and fear, like their success meant more than just another day's work.
When he finally reached Mr. Klein's shop and saw the familiar sign and door, he let out a small smile as he went in.
He pushed the door open. The bell above the frame chimed softly,its familiar sound always marking the start of another workday. When Roland looked up, he immediately saw Mr. Klein behind the counter,and Edgar beside him, hands braced on the wood, like they'd been finishing a conversation.
At the sight, Roland exhaled without meaning to, only now realizing how much he'd been hoping he wouldn't be alone today. After yesterday's hauling and the walk through streets full of adventurers, he had zero desire to carry more orders by himself if Klein decided to send anything else to a forge or warehouse.
Edgar glanced at him first and lifted a brow with a faint grin.
"From the look on your face, you're scared of work," he teased.
Roland shrugged as he came closer and took off his belt of pouches.
"I'm just hoping I won't be the only pack mule in the district today," he said evenly.
Mr. Klein looked up from the ledger as if weighing something, then closed it and set his pen down.
"Relax," he said shortly. "There'll be plenty to do today, but not enough for you two to fight over it."
Edgar and Roland looked at Klein,then at each other,and couldn't hold it in. They started laughing.
Klein let them have it for a moment. When the laughter finally faded, he raised his eyes and looked at Edgar,not harshly, but firmly enough that Edgar was the first to look away.
"Back to work," Klein said calmly.
Edgar gave an exaggerated sigh. Roland simply nodded, and the two of them got moving.