The dawn light filtered through the gaps in the warehouse timbers; long, dusty slats of amber fell across the small room. Crispin lay still on the narrow cot, listening to the rhythmic roar of the Shimmering Sea and the shrill, distant cries of the gulls.
Memories of the previous night's celebration flickered through his mind—the taste of spiced crab, the frantic rhythm of the fiddles, and the rare, pure happiness he had felt while dancing. For a moment, the heavy expectations of his heritage felt lighter.
A heavy, measured thud sounded against the door.
"Boy, ya awake?" Kaelen's voice was a low rumble.
"Come in," Crispin said, sitting upright.
The door creaked open and admitted the massive dockmaster. Kaelen looked at the quiet wharf through the window. "I wanted to talk to ya before ye left. There are tons of food left from last night. Dat crab is more than those sailors could finish in a week. Ya okay if I donate it to the Silent Sisters and the Monks of the Golden Thistle? I'm not a religious man, but feeding their flocks seems better than it going to waste or into the sea."
Crispin adjusted the collar of his tunic. "I agree. Donate it on behalf of the Tamer's Guild."
Kaelen's expression shifted; he looked awkward and shifted his weight. "Boy… ya should donate it in your own name, if ye don't mind my suggestion. A young man ought to make a name for himself."
Crispin thought of the way the merchants had bowed their heads as he passed. He remembered the weight of the silver in his pouch. "No. I owe everything I have to being a tamer. Let's do it on behalf of the guild."
Kaelen smiled, a slight gesture, nodded, then departed.
Crispin dressed with deliberate care and stepped out into the city. The morning air was sharp with salt and the smell of baking bread. Near the entrance of a small bakery, he spotted three halfling children. Soot and coal dust smudged their faces; they pressed their noses against the glass, staring at a tray of cinnamon rolls that glistened with frosting.
He stepped into the shop, the air heavy with honeyed yeast. Moments later, he emerged with three large rolls wrapped in wax paper. He handed them to the children.
"Thanks, Lord Tamer!" a little girl cried, her eyes bright. "You're the best!"
Crispin chuckled and shook his head. "It's just Tamer. I'm Crispin."
"Thanks, Crispin," her brother added before the group sprinted off toward an alleyway.
Regulus rubbed his muzzle against Crispin's cheek, his golden eyes shimmering with quiet affection.
He found the Silver Thread nestled in its familiar corner of the plaza. An Elvish guard, whose silver armor gleamed with a cold light, occupied Seya. Crispin stood to the side, leaning on his ivory-clad spear. As the guard exited, he stared at Regulus with intense, silent curiosity. He didn't speak, but his hand hovered near his sword hilt in a reflexive gesture of before he nodded to Crispin and departed.
Seya beckoned him to the velvet bench, her face lighting up with joy. She took his hand in hers. "You look so happy. Did our conversation help you find yourself?"
Crispin flushed a soft red and nodded. "It did."
"I heard tales of your coastal serpent! He was a beast!"
"He paid well, thankfully," Crispin replied. "I wanted to buy some more clothes and a few more padded gambesons. I was also wondering if you would consider looking at something for me? It's a garment of clothing."
Seya's expression turned curious.
"My grandfather left me a garment," Crispin explained. "It's ancient and falling apart. I was wondering if you could examine it and see if it's possible to restore it? It's Shae'Vaelryn."
Seya's hand tightened on Crispin's. Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating as the name registered. "You have a Shae'Vaelryn artifact? By the gods! Do you know how rare such things are, dear boy?"
"I don't know the history," Crispin admitted. "My father gave it to me after the guild accepted me."
"You would trust me with it? Please! I'd love to see it." She pressed her hand to her mouth. "I'd love to just touch the fabric. The history alone is staggering."
"The kindness you have shown me... I trust you," Crispin said.
He left the shop carrying a new, reinforced drake-skin satchel of deep mahogany. He hired a sturdy carriage for the trek back to the Smithy. The drive through the rural clearing felt shorter than usual. When the carriage pulled up, Thorne was already standing by the porch. The blacksmith stared at the elegant carriage and at his son's attire.
Thorne enfolded Crispin in a bone-crushing embrace. Elara stepped from the house, her eyes fixed on the fabric of Crispin's clothing; her face beamed with a pride that felt unburdened.
"Dad, I want to buy some armor," Crispin explained. "I figured there would be no one better to have with me than a master blacksmith."
Thorne laughed and threw a heavy arm around his son's shoulder. The return trip to Mirandir took them past the training grounds. Crispin watched from the window as they passed Lucien. The noble was struggling under the weight of twenty charred river wyverns; he hadn't even cared enough to preserve the hides. Further down the road, they saw Dario. The tamer was playing with children while Hulk, the primate tame, sat in a low, defensive stance, ensuring his partner stayed safe.
"Hi Crispin!" Dario waved and smiled.
Crispin waved out the window.
The carriage stopped in front of the Silver Thread. Crispin ushered his parents inside, guiding them toward the back room where Seya waited. He presented the Shae'Vaelryn vestment. Seya touched the cerulean silk with the reverence one might show a holy relic.
"My dear boy," Seya whispered. "We cannot restore it. It is just too old and fragile."
Crispin felt a heavy weight of disappointment.
"However," Seya continued. "I could study it. I could create a pattern from it and replicate the style and make you new clothing from it."
"You could do that?"
Seya nodded, a faint blush on her cheeks. Crispin poked his head into the showroom and motioned for Thorne.
"Dad, Seya said she can't restore the vestment. She wants to make a pattern from it to create new clothes. Would that upset you?"
Thorne looked at the ancient cloth. "It being in a chest until it falls apart helps no one. If she can make things in this style, then you honor our heritage. Your grandfather would be happy."
Crispin turned back to Seya, giving his consent. "I prefer darker colors. Dark blues, greens, grays, and blacks. I'm not sure what type of cloth could match the ghostly weight of this one, but I'm sure you'll exceed my expectations."
"I may be a few weeks while I work."
"That's fine. I would also like to buy a new set of clothes for my parents, if you would be so kind?"
After some resistance from Thorne, they bought clothes. He bought Elara a new dress and Thorne a fine set of travel clothes. The total for the new garments came to 10 Allium, 1 Bronze, and 6 Copper. He jiggled his pouch as they loaded his new garments into the carriage. He smiled. There was still plenty left for armor.
While Elara remained to browse, Crispin and Thorne made their way to the armory. People moved out of Thorne's way as the massive blacksmith approached the counter. Crispin noticed a feathered steel pauldron and a matching sleeve of feathered scale mail.
"What do you think, Regy? Those steel feathers would give you a tight handhold."
Regulus let out a soft sound and nodded, rubbing his head against Crispin's neck.
"Master Smith," Thorne called out. "May my son and I see that feathered pauldron?"
The elvish smith retrieved the item. Thorne took the armor into his hands, checking its weight. He leaned close to the smith, his voice dropping to a low, professional register.
"Master Smith… I'm not insulting your reputation, but this is poor quality. The craftsmanship is there, but the quality of the steel used wasn't up to par."
The smith flushed a deep red. He hurried to the back, and moments later, a more senior smith emerged. The elder elvish man approached with a measured stride.
"My son said you had questions about one of our items?"
"Questions? No," Thorne replied. "I said the quality is poor. My son is a tamer and fights actual monsters. He doesn't parade around the city just for show."
The Master Smith looked from Thorne to Crispin and then to the Coastal Wyvern. "May I ask with whom I am speaking?"
"Thorne, Master Blacksmith of Thalandir. My forge may be old, but I taught my boy to craft better than this when he was twelve."
The elvish smith bowed his head. "You have the right of it. My son… it is his piece. He has an exquisite design ideology, but is still mastering the craft."
Thorne looked at Crispin. "Is it possible we could have the sleeve crafted in this design but with master skill? Perhaps yours?"
The elder Smith chuckled. "I could craft the materials. We'd have to work through the night. Let's say 5 Silver and 10 Allium."
Thorne turned to Crispin. "What do you think, son?"
"Even at Master quality, it would be worth 4 Silver and 5 Allium in the best market," Crispin countered.
Thorne smiled and patted Crispin on the shoulder.
The elvish smith nodded in approval. "You also taught him to have shrewd business sense and an eye for style."