Riven’s eyes shot open, and he bolted upright in his bed, his chest heaving as if he had just run a mile. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. What was that? He sat there in the dim light, trying to piece together the strange fragments. The dream felt eerily similar to when he had absorbed the soul shards from the Zeltrick, but this time, there was something new—a vivid detail. He had seen a figure fusing lesser shards into stronger ones, maintaining the same ratio: twenty to one.


    Is this a sign? he wondered, his thoughts turning to the beasts he would need to hunt to test this newfound ability. Riven sighed, running a hand through his hair. That’s the problem, isn’t it? He lacked the offensive power to tackle stronger beasts, and the realization left him feeling stuck, circling back to the same issue. Frustration bubbled within him, but he closed his eyes and let it ebb away with slow, measured breaths.


    Remembering the message he had left for Silvia, Riven swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He took a moment to fix the disheveled sheets, a small routine that helped steady his thoughts, and prepared to head out.


    In the dining area, the familiar aroma of breakfast greeted him. On the table sat a plate of steaming eggs, tender slices of meat, and fresh bread. Riven smiled. How does Mom always know when I’m about to wake up? He tucked into the meal, savoring the comforting flavors before bidding farewell to his mother and stepping out into the brisk morning air.


    The journey to the Adventurer’s Guild was short but filled with a quiet hopefulness. Riven couldn’t help but wonder if Silvia had replied or if she’d chosen to ignore his request altogether.


    At the guild, Helga greeted him with her usual warm smile. Before Riven could even ask, she reached behind her and retrieved a sealed envelope from a polished black box. Placing it on the counter with a mischievous grin, she slid it toward him.


    Riven restrained a sigh, offering her a polite nod as he accepted the envelope. “Thank you,” he murmured, stepping aside toward the entrance to open it. The wax seal broke easily under his fingers, and he unfolded the letter, scanning its contents.


    Dear Riven Stormbrand,


    I appreciate your enthusiasm for this form of combat, but I must warn you—it is difficult to master and requires immense patience. That being said, if you are determined to pursue it, I recommend visiting Roman Gray at the Hungry Drake Tavern to the west of town. Tell him I sent you.


    P.S. I heard about your affliction. Fate is indeed cruel sometimes; however, I bid you good luck.


    —Silvia


    Riven stared at the letter, stunned that Silvia had not only replied but had gone as far as to provide a recommendation—and her name as a reference, no less. His opinion of her rose significantly. Yet, as gratitude swelled within him, so did another, less welcome feeling.


    Jayce and the others, he thought bitterly. Not a single one of the nobles he thought he could call friends had contacted him since that fateful day. Like Silvia, they must have heard of his affliction. They had chosen to distance themselves. Typical. They had only ever valued him for his potential utility.


    He tightened his grip on the letter, his knuckles whitening as the pang of sadness washed over him. His grandfather and mother had warned him about fair-weather friends like them, but hearing it wasn’t the same as experiencing it. For a moment, he let the melancholy linger, but then his thoughts turned to yesterday’s quest and the people he’d met—people who treated him with respect and genuineness.


    Riven straightened, his resolve hardening. He glanced over the letter again, noting the name and location: Roman Gray at the Hungry Drake. Carefully folding the letter, he tucked it into a pouch on his belt.


    Turning back toward Helga, he approached the desk once more. “Excuse me, Miss Helga, can you tell me how to get to the Hungry Drake Tavern?”


    “Oh, that place?” she said, her tone light. “It’s on the edge of the town’s main market. Ask anyone there, and they’ll point you to it.”


    “Thank you,” Riven replied with a grateful nod before heading toward the bustling heart of the town.


    Riven glanced up at the sky, the sun hanging high to mark noon. Excitement bubbled within him, making the crowded streets below feel like an unnecessary obstacle. The thoroughfares were packed with bustling people and the occasional tamed beast, their combined presence creating a constant hum of activity. Deciding against wading through the throng, Riven summoned his pink mana, letting it surge through his body.


    With a blink, he vanished from his spot and reappeared mid-air, his feet planting firmly on the second-story wall of a nearby building, perpendicular to the ground. Without pausing, he leapt toward the next structure, his movements fluid and purposeful. Building to building, he traveled, each jump carrying him closer to the market. Only when he reached the edge of the bustling square, where his acrobatics might stir unnecessary panic, did he drop back to the ground, landing smoothly before blending into the crowd.


    Now then, where is this tavern? Riven mused, his gaze sweeping across the sprawling market. Even at the outskirts, stalls lined the streets, offering an eclectic mix of goods—everything from sizzling food to stacks of rough-hewn construction materials.


    As he wandered, his eyes caught on a striking shop that stood out among the makeshift stalls. The building was crafted from rich blue wood, its amber-tinted glass window glinting in the sunlight. Behind the glass sat rows of potions, their vibrant contents gleaming like captured rainbows. Above the entrance, a wooden sign proudly bore the name Lunar Cauldron, accompanied by an intricate depiction of a cauldron beneath a crescent moon and scattered stars.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Something about the craftsmanship—or perhaps a twinge of nostalgia for the basics his mother had taught him—drew Riven closer. Deciding it was worth a look, and that he could also ask for directions inside, he pushed open the door. A soft chime rang out, the sound of small bells above the entrance announcing his arrival.


    The interior was nothing short of mesmerizing. Wooden tables draped in velvety blue cloth filled the room, each topped with large, circular glass cylinders brimming with liquids of every conceivable color. The way the light refracted through the glass gave the room an almost magical glow.


    Wow, Riven thought, his eyes widening. That’s a lot of merchandise just sitting out in the open. Don’t most shops keep this kind of stuff locked away?


    His thoughts must have been written plainly on his face because the shopkeeper chuckled, drawing Riven’s attention.


    “Welcome to the Lunar Cauldron,” the man said warmly. “How can I help you?”


    Riven turned toward the voice, taking in the sight of the shopkeeper. He appeared to be in his forties, his massive black beard streaked with hints of gray, and his short, curly hair framing a professional yet amiable smile.


    “Sorry,” Riven began, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice, “I was just wondering why you’ve got so many potions out like this. Isn’t it... unsafe?”


    The man’s smile broadened, a glint of pride in his eyes. “True enough, in most cases. But tell me, who would dare steal from a Rank 4 and the Petralis family?”


    Riven’s expression hardened slightly at the mention of the Petralis family. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice cool.


    The shopkeeper gestured toward the potions. “All these are supplied by the Petralis family,” he explained. “I just man the shop.”


    Disappointment flickered across Riven’s face. The excitement he’d felt at finding a potential master alchemist drained away. He’d been hoping for an independent artisan, not a storefront backed by one of the noble families he had little love for. With a sigh, he pushed aside his irritation and focused on the task at hand.


    “Do you know where I can find the Hungry Drake?” Riven asked.


    At the mention of the name, the man’s demeanor shifted slightly. His professional smile faltered, replaced by a wary look. He lowered his voice. “Kid, that’s not exactly the most... savory place in town.”


    Riven shrugged off the warning, his tone steady. “I’m just looking for someone. That’s all.”


    The shopkeeper regarded him for a moment before relaxing, his expression softening just enough to show he understood. “It’s two blocks down, at the corner,” he said, his voice returning to normal.


    “Thanks,” Riven said with a nod before stepping out of the shop and back into the bustling streets.


    Two blocks down... Riven thought, shaking his head. That’s practically the edge of the main market.


    Re-entering the crowded streets, he wove his way through the bustling throng, making his way toward the market’s outskirts. As he progressed, the atmosphere began to shift. By the time he reached the second block, the surroundings took on a more neglected appearance. Cracks marred the stone-paved streets, while rusted metal signs hung from buildings with moldy wooden frames. The air here carried a faint, musty smell, one that hinted at dampness and decay.


    It was far from inviting, but Riven wasn’t about to let a little disrepair deter him.


    As he crossed into the final block, his eyes fell upon a massive red-and-brown wooden building. The structure dominated the street, and an oversized sign hanging above the double doors depicted a repetition beast chomping down on a ridiculously large drumstick. The exaggerated imagery drew a chuckle from Riven.


    Yeah, that definitely looks like a hungry drake.


    Approaching the heavy double doors, Riven paused, hesitating as the shopkeeper’s earlier warning echoed in his mind. For a fleeting moment, he considered turning back. But curiosity, coupled with his drive to grow stronger, pushed him forward. With a deep breath, he pushed open the doors and stepped inside.


    The sight that greeted him was both familiar and overwhelming. Wooden tables filled the tavern, their occupants engrossed in loud conversations and hearty meals. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clink of tankards. Waitstaff darted between the tables, balancing trays laden with food and drinks. At the far end of the room, a massive counter stretched across the wall, with doors swinging open and shut as kitchen staff bustled in and out.


    Riven’s gaze swept across the room until it settled on a man behind the counter. He was broad-shouldered, with deep crimson hair tied back in a ponytail, and an easy smile played on his lips as he cleaned mugs with a rag. Yet, there was something about him—a palpable pressure that made Riven’s instincts flare.


    Drawn inexplicably, Riven found himself walking toward the counter. The man didn’t look up until Riven stopped directly in front of him. Placing the mug and rag down, the man finally met Riven’s gaze, and the pressure Riven had felt before intensified, washing over him like a wave. It wasn’t imagined this time.


    “What can I do for you, adventurer?” the man asked, his smile still present but now laced with tension.


    The hostility in the man’s tone confused Riven. Does he not like adventurers? he wondered. Clearing his throat, Riven decided to press on. “Hello, my name is Riven. I was sent here by Silvia. She said a man named Roman Gray could help me.”


    At the mention of the name, the tension lifted. Roman’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a sigh, tilting his head back. “Here I thought I’d finally be left alone,” he muttered under his breath, too low for Riven to catch.


    Straightening up, Roman regarded Riven with a critical eye before speaking. “What do you need help with?”


    “I need to learn how to use and imbue a weapon,” Riven said quickly, his tone earnest.


    Roman brought a hand to his chin, scratching thoughtfully. “Alright, kid. I’ll teach you what I can, but every lesson’s gonna cost you a gold coin.”


    Riven’s jaw dropped. “One gold coin for every lesson?”


    Roman’s smile returned, this time with a hint of amusement. Picking up the rag and mug again, he said, “Oh? Is that a problem? Then I guess I can’t help you.”


    With no alternatives, Riven sighed in resignation. “Fine. Can we start now?” He reached for the pouch at his waist, pulling out a single gold coin. Placing it on the counter, he barely had time to blink before Roman’s hand blurred, and the coin vanished.


    What the— Riven stared in shock, the man’s speed leaving him momentarily speechless. Yeah, he’s definitely not normal.


    Roman set the mug and rag back down and turned, shouting over his shoulder. “Garrick! Handle the front. I’ll be back.”


    A muffled voice called out from one of the doors behind the counter. “Got it!”


    Satisfied, Roman gestured toward a door at the back of the room. “Follow me,” he said, striding toward it without waiting.


    Riven squared his shoulders, steeling himself, and followed.