Crispin stepped into the heart of the upper terraces. The air here was cool and carried the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine—a careful balance maintained by the gardeners who tended the hanging beds above.
Bioluminescent moss in shades of turquoise and emerald clung to bridge arches and stone railings, casting a gentle glow that softened the pale granite beneath it. Underfoot, the natural gravel—a mix of crushed quartz and river stone—crunched with a quiet, rhythmic sound that felt almost ceremonial.
He adjusted the silver clasp of his void-silk cloak as he walked, aware of the subtle shift in attention around him. He was not the invisible smith's son anymore. A shadow moved through a district accustomed to silk and pale robes, and people noticed. Some watched with curiosity. Others with calculation.
He stopped before a shop with a sign carved from dark oak and polished smooth by age and care.
The Apothecary.
Crispin pushed the door open. Warm air rolled out to meet him, heavy with the scents of dried herbs, sulfur, crushed petals, and sweet honey. Glass chimed softly as the door swung inward.
"Welcome," a voice called from behind a high counter cluttered with vials, scales, and neatly stacked ledgers. The attendant instructed, "You must leave your arms at the door."
Crispin nodded without comment and turned, handing the Shadow-Twilight spear to the shop's guard. The man was broad-shouldered and solid; his expression flickered when the obsidian shaft passed into his grasp. Recognition followed, then care.
Behind the counter, the shopkeeper looked up. He was thin, sharp-featured, with spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. His gaze traveled from Crispin's armor to the void-silk cloak and finally settled on the reflective silver sphere resting on Crispin's shoulder.
His mouth tightened.
"No monsters, sir," stated the man. "I'll have to ask you to leave, or you may leave it outside."
Crispin did not flinch and adjusted his stance.
"I'm a tamer."
The color drained from the man's face, then rushed back all at once. He dropped the mortar in his hands and bowed his head low over the counter.
"My apologies, sir," he blurted. "I did not see the bond-mark. The inventory distracted me."
"It's fine," Crispin replied. He stepped further into the shop. "You can call me Crispin."
"Tam—Crispin," the man corrected himself, flushing as he kept his eyes firmly on the counter. "My name is Silas. What might I interest you in? Potions, poultices, ointments. I carry salves suitable even for dragon-scale abrasions."
"Instruction scrolls," Crispin said. "Or books."
Silas blinked, then straightened. Interest overcame embarrassment in an instant. He hurried around the counter, apron fluttering as he crossed to the shelves lining the back wall.
"Books, yes. Of course. I have everything from basic catalogs to high-tier syntheses. Which would interest you?"
Regulus shifted. His silver mass flattened slightly, and his core vibrated. The sound that emerged was thin and metallic, like wind moving through iron.
"All."
Silas froze. His spectacles slid down his nose. "Oh my. Did he… did it speak?"
Crispin smiled and let out a quiet chuckle. "Please. Show us."
Silas swallowed, then reached for a scroll and unrolled it across the counter with careful hands. "This is a standard healing potion. Suitable for learning suspension techniques. It will cure colds, aches, and minor wounds."
Crispin lowered his shoulder, bringing Regulus closer to the parchment. The slime's surface rippled as his Cognitive Resonance engaged, processing the text and diagrams at speed. After several seconds, Regulus pulsed a steady blue.
"Yes," Regulus said, a small protrusion tapping the page.
Silas inhaled sharply, excitement overtaking his fear. He reached higher on the shelf, retrieving another scroll bound with a green ribbon. "Mid-tier potion. This is standard for active duty. It closes deep wounds, halts blood loss, and provides a controlled surge of adrenaline to speed up healing."
He held this one out, not to Crispin, but directly toward Regulus. Regulus leaned forward, tapped the parchment, and nodded.
"Excellent," Silas said. "Shall I have these wax-sealed for transport?"
"High tier," Regulus said.
Silas's eyes widened. "Little sir, even I lack the skill to produce a high-tier potion. The ingredients require a master's touch, and the stability is volatile."
Regulus looked him directly in the eyes. His silver mass tightened, lips pursed in unmistakable displeasure.
"We wish to conduct experiments and tests," Crispin said calmly. "Please show him."
Silas hesitated, then nodded. He returned to the counter and produced a scroll of fine vellum edged in gold leaf. He spread it carefully across the surface. Crispin set Regulus down, allowing him to examine the complex diagrams and catalyst ratios. Regulus patted the vellum, his core glowing a soft, satisfied violet.
"Very well," Silas said quietly. "I will seal these for you."
Crispin reached for his coin purse. As he did, one of the crystal bottles Regulus had formed the night before caught the light.
Silas gasped. "May I, sir?"
Crispin nodded.
Silas lifted the bottle with reverence. "Elvish. Basic, but solidly crafted. Crystal-infused silica, am I correct?"
"You are," Crispin said, smiling.
"May I buy it from you?"
Crispin glanced at Regulus. "What do you think? Do you want to sell it?"
Silas stared. "You… you ask him."
"They are his," Crispin replied. "Not mine."
Silas lowered his eyes. "Little master. Would you accept an offer?"
Regulus pursed his lips. "Scrolls."
Silas winced. "It is extremely valuable, little sir, but that is too much. I can offer two of the scrolls, but the high-tier formula is a village treasure."
"Two bottles," Regulus said. "All scrolls."
Crispin withdrew a second bottle and placed it beside the first. Silas's eyes widened. He examined the glass, then nodded sharply. "Done." He swept the bottles behind the counter and hurried to seal the scrolls.
As he worked, he leaned closer. "Crispin, if I may ask. Is that the Elder's emperor slime?"
Crispin frowned. "No. I got him during my ceremony tame."
Silas nodded. "Smartest little critters I know."
"This is Regulus."
Silas bowed deeply. "Well met, little sovereign."
Regulus returned the bow.
"You are always welcome here," Silas said. "Is there anything else I might get you?"
Regulus's gaze drifted to the shelves behind the counter. "Reagents," he said.