ONE
Elixir Emporium smelled like sage, forgotten books and old secrets.
The moment Asha stepped into Val’s shop, she knew she needed magic to fix her. Something sharp and strange swept through her bones like a gust of wind. How many times had she walked into the very same apothecary and no strange, magical energy had appraised her in such a way? Was Val testing some new magic of sorts?
The shop itself was a quiet tangle of old charm and lived-in magic. The walls were lined with dark carved wooden panels, their surfaces etched with subtle sigils that glimmered faintly in the low light - something that Asha had definitely not noticed in previous visits. Rows of books filled one wall, some bound in cracked leather, others stitched together with thread and dried leaves. Baskets and vases of dried herbs hung from ceiling beams or sat nestled in nooks, their fragrant notes mingling with the earthy scent of freshly watered potted plants placed in each corner like silent sentinels.
Two weavers stood near the far shelves, speaking in hushed voices as they selected their herbs. They barely glanced her way, their fingers trailing over labels as if reading more from the vibrations than the text. The morning light shining through the large bay windows flooded the front of the shop while the back was lit with small hanging lanterns which cast warm pools of golden light across the worn floorboards
Glass jars of varying sizes lined the wooden shelves, dried herbs, powdered minerals, tiny scrolls curled up like sleeping things. Asha stood in front of a row of jars labelled “Dreamroot,” “Lullaflame,” and “Ashenveil Dust,” her fingers twitched at her sides.
She didn’t want to have to address that she was quite possibly slowly losing her mind, but the last few weeks had left her nerves frayed from all the disturbed sleep.
Asha’s dreams were getting worse.
They came in bursts, vivid and wild, like someone else’s memories had been sewn into her mind. And each time she woke it was like the memory of them dissolved, just flashes left behind, a touch too far for her to grasp onto. Words were spoken but Asha had no recollection of their meaning, as if a different language was being spoken in her dreams, a sky that hummed with power and the sense that someone, or something was watching her from somewhere she was unable able to reach.
This morning had been what led her into the weaver’s apothecary.
Asha had woken up not in her bed, but on the floor of her living room, a marker in her hands and ink smeared on the inside of her palm. As if she’d been trying to write something down before it was gone.
Now standing in the hazy quiet of the apothecary with soft music and the distant meow-ing of the weaver’s familiar, Asha felt exposed. Val, the owner and weaver, was quietly reading a thick book with yellowing pages by the counter. Probably brushing up on her spell work. While the weaver looked to be in her mid forties, it was very likely that she had lived at least a century. Asha knew to never ask Val’s age whenever she came to pick up her usual orders. It was almost instinctual to not irritate a being with mastery over the magical arts.
Weavers were known to be masters at picking up on the natural magic which flowed through the elements and weaving it to their bidding. As a human, Asha was only ever exposed to weaver magic when it came to medicine or in her current case, needing a sleeping potion strong enough to knock her out for a solid eight hours and dream of nothing but blackness.
Living in a big city with so many magically gifted beings intertwining in public spaces, Asha was no stranger to weavers’ allure. Their shops, like Val’s, were tucked into every quarter of Varyndell. Some modest like Val’s, others ostentatious with enchanted signs and glowing wards. And when they weren’t selling their craft to the public, they were contributing to Nivarden’s medical advancements, crafting protective sigils for public infrastructure, or tucked away in their covens doing whatever it was Weavers did behind closed doors. Some tried to live what passed for a normal life. Most didn’t. Magic clung to them too tightly for that.
“Are you going to keep staring at me like a hungry vampyre or are you here for something?” Val called out softly without looking up from her book.
Asha blinked in surprise, she hadn’t realised that she had been standing there like some mindless street vagrant, wishing she just had the magic in her veins to fix the problem herself.
“Morning, Val,” Asha smiled sheepishly as she approached the weaver.
A white cat jumped up on the counter and let out a soft trill towards Asha before walking into her palm.
“Morning, Pela.” She scratched the cat behind the ears for a moment.
“Do you need another jar of herbs for your cycle? I thought the last batch I gave you was enough?” Val finally looked up, her soft brown eyes casually scanning Asha’s body before stopping at her womb.
“I have enough, I came for something else.”
Val’s gaze sharpened, the book closing on its own with a dusty sigh.
“Something else?” She echoed, resting her chin in her hand.
Asha shifted on her feet, suddenly aware of how tired she felt. Not just physically, but in her bones, in her soul. Whatever was happening in her sleep wasn’t just dreaming, it felt like something was trying to find her there.
“I haven’t been sleeping all too well,” she admitted, fingers running through her messy black curls. “And when I do…it’s not restful. Last night I found myself in the living room. Writing. I don’t even remember getting up.”
Val said nothing, simply watching her with that Weaver stillness that felt like being dissected.
“You want a dreamless tincture,” Val said finally, standing and gliding over to a shelf Asha hadn’t noticed before. Tucked between a curtain of fried lavender and a stack of rune-stamped boxes.
“I want a night where I don’t feel like I’m haunted, Val.”
A pause.
Val pulled down a small jar with silver filigree around its rim, filled with dark blue liquid that shimmered faintly in the light.
“This isn’t something I usually give to humans without prior prescription from their doctor. It’s strong, Asha. Woven with lullaflame and shadowroot. You’ll sleep like the dead and you won’t dream.”
Asha nodded and held a hand out. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Val studied her another beat, then handed over the jar.
“Put no more than a teaspoon in a hot drink. And not every night. This will cut off that part of your mind for a while, but if there’s something trying to reach you…” Val hesitated. “It might not like being blocked.”
Asha understood where Val was coming from, while it was rare, it wasn’t unheard of for magical things to happen to humans. Elandria had such interesting ways to reach out to its inhabitants.
Asha stared at the jar, the swirling liquid catching the light like oil and stars.
“I’ll risk it.”
“I felt something,” Asha said, almost to herself once the purchase was complete. Val packaged Asha’s jar and waited for her to continue. “When I walked in. Like- like a gust of wind, but inside me. It felt… electric. Weird.”
Val arched a grey brow. “You felt that?”
Asha nodded slowly.
The weaver tied a band around the wrapped jar with a quiet snap, expression sharpening. “That’s odd. You shouldn’t have. The ward on the door is subtle. It’s meant to register species, mostly to keep out anything dangerous. It’s more of a magical check-in than something humans can feel.”
“Well, it definitely did something to me.” Asha rubbed her arms, suddenly hyper-aware of the lingering sensation still prickling at her skin. “It was like the shop noticed me the second I stepped in.”
Val leaned in across the counter slightly, her eyes narrowing, not in suspicion, but in curiosity. “And you’ve never felt anything like that before?”
“Not here. Not anywhere.”
Val hummed low in her throat. “Interesting,” she said, and left it at that.
The jar pressed cool against her palm, hidden deep in her coat pocket like a secret she wasn’t ready to name. Pela’s purring slipped away with the door’s soft click, and then noise. Motion. The world outside was already moving, already awake. Eldrin’s Quarter breathed around her in warm market scents and distant chatter, and Asha tried to match its rhythm with her own, but her bones still hummed with something unfamiliar.
The heart of Varyndell beat slow and steady this early. She stepped into the awakening city, chunky boots tapping against cobblestone slick with last night’s mist. Market vendors were only just beginning to set up their stalls, unfurling awnings with weathered hands, arranging their wares which ranged from fruits enchanted to stay fresh, silken fabrics or handwoven talismans to silently squirming ingredients in glass jars. The shutters on the bars were locked tight, save for the low murmur of closing-time patrons stumbling out from the night’s haze.
Tourists wandered wide-eyed and camera-strapped, dodging commuting locals with the quick, clipped pace of the city dweller.
Above Asha, the sky was already busy.
Shifters in avian forms cut through the morning air, their sleek animal bodies gliding high between the historic, aging stones of Eldrin’s Quarter. Asha could make out one or two who dropped toward the rooftops, shifting midair with practiced ease before vanishing behind slate chimneys and weathered stone balconies. Not an uncommon sight in Varyndell, but still one Asha always watched with a mix of awe and quiet longing.
Vampyres, too, were beginning to emerge, but not with the sluggish gait of the humans around her. No, they were little more than elegant blurs at the edge of her vision, weaving through the crowd at speeds that seemed impossible for such composed creatures. The only hint of their passage was a ripple of wind in their wake and the faint scent of cold starlight and ancient things.
Asha walked past one of the wayfinding obelisks, a tall pillar of obsidian-veined stone etched with pale runes that pulsed gently as she neared. The glow responded to her proximity, and the hum of old magic stirred at its base. She reached out instinctively, brushing her fingers along the side. A whisper of heat pulsed against her palm.
“Current location: Eldrin’s Quarter, City of Varyndell. Destination?” a voice intoned softly from the obelisk’s core, genderless, smooth, ancient.
Asha leaned in and muttered, “Wren & Wisp Café.”
The runes flared brighter for a moment, and then a trail of floating light unraveled from the top of the obelisk, weaving into the street ahead like a ribbon of silver fire. A clear, magical thread guiding her to the café. She didn’t need the directions, she’d walked this route countless times, but there was comfort in the consistency of the obelisks, in how the city always seemed to be holding itself together with both grit and enchantment.
Asha adjusted the collar of her coat and kept walking, weaving through the slowly thickening crowd. She huffed a quiet expletive as the strap of her satchel kept slipping. Asha tugged it tighter and pushed through the waking rhythm of Eldrin’s Quarter.
By the time she reached the café, the bells above the door gave their familiar metallic chime, and the warmth of the interior washed over her. The rich aroma of freshly brewed kavha and baked goods enveloped her, a comforting contrast to the crisp air outside. Kavha, sweetbread and burnt sugar crusted the air.The café was already humming with activity, regulars perched on barstools, engrossed in their morning routines, while others queued for their daily caffeine fix.
She hung her coat behind the counter and tied the apron with the muscle memory of someone trying not to think too hard. Her hands moved ahead of her brain, already moving toward the brass-handled kavha press nestled beside the steaming stone kettles. The machine hissed softly as she spooned in a heaping measure of finely ground kavha, dark, aromatic, with notes of cinnamon, imported from Zarethar’s southern cliffs. The scent alone stirred something warm and grounding in her, even if her mind was still somewhere else, in a dream half-forgotten, in the way her skin still tingled from Val’s wards.
Asha poured herself a small mug of straight kavha into a chipped cup and took a long sip. This she understood. Hot. Strong. Real. She closed her eyes, just for a breath. Let the warmth settle behind her ribs.
Everything else could wait.
“Where’s your uniform?”
And the moment of peace was short lived by Asha’s favourite shift manager.
The voice snapped across the counter like a rubber band. Tight. Annoyed. Familiar in the worst way.
Asha’s jaw clenched momentarily, her gaze drifted lazily to where he stood. He loomed on the other side of the counter like a particularly judgmental lamppost. Tall, wiry, and somehow always tense, like he was clenching every muscle just to exist. His mousy brown hair was scraped into its usual too-tight bun, not a strand out of place, like the man had personally offended time itself by not aging into a personality.
She glanced down at her white t-shirt with Wren & Wisp’s logo stitched over her chest and then back at Rand, one brow arching in dry amusement.
“I’m wearing it?”
Rand sniffed, unimpressed. “And what are those?” He pointed at her pants. Baggy, patchwork, every shade of purple from plum to bruised violet. “They’re not up to code.”
“Stars above, Rand, you’re a real thorn in the asshole,” she muttered.
He didn’t blink. The bastard probably took it as a compliment. Rand had worked at Wren & Wisp for longer than anyone else and wore that fact like a badge and he was dedicated to his job in a way that felt just slightly unhinged. Asha sensed his disdain from the moment Fern gave her the job without consulting him, and he never missed an opportunity to remind her she didn’t quite fit.
“If you’re not wearing the correct uniform,” he huffed, lips pursing beneath a permanent frown, “I’ll have to send you home.”
Asha gave him her best deadpan blank stare. A challenge. Please, her eyes said. Send me home. I dare you.
Rand wavered. Flinched, almost. Then turned on his heel and stormed toward the back office, arms flapping. “Fern! Fern, she’s doing it again!”
Asha smirked to herself. Fern wouldn’t care. Fern had probably been half-asleep in the office since opening, and as long as the service flowed and the customers were happy, Asha could’ve worn a bedsheet and still kept her job another day.
She returned to her station behind the bar, slipping back into the motions: pour, steam, serve, smile when necessary. But her skin still buzzed faintly, a residue of Val’s warning and the strange weight of the dreams she couldn’t remember.
A moment later, her gaze drifted to table nine. Two new customers had slipped into her section without her noticing.
Vampyres.
They sat with the kind of composure only ancient predators or Queensgate socialites possessed. Sharp suits, sharper features, and the sort of stillness that made them impossible to ignore. Both of them were watching Asha like predators studying prey.
She met their gaze and didn’t flinch. Not yet.
Asha approached table nine with practiced ease, tray in hand and her expression schooled into something neutral, bordering on polite. She grabbed the tray without needing to check the order, she already knew what they wanted. Two kavhas laced with goat’s blood and ironroot. Elegant and a bit feral.
“Dorian. Lila,” she greeted, offering a small nod as she reached their table. “Didn’t see you slip in.”
“You were busy wrestling your manager,” Lila said dryly, not bothering to hide the curl of amusement in her voice. “It was entertaining.”
Dorian chuckled, reclining in his seat with the kind of elegance only a vampyre could make look effortless. “He’s got such a wonderfully punchable face. I admire your restraint.”
Asha smirked. “It’s still early.”
They were twice a week regulars, always in the mid-morning lull, always dressed like they’d stepped out of a high-end fashion advert. Comfortable in the way only people who were very old and very dangerous could be. Asha had grown used to their brand of vague flattery and long, assessing looks.
Dorian drummed his fingers on the table. “We’re heading out tonight. Wilder’s throwing something at his club.”
Asha raised a brow. “Gideon Wilder?”
“The one and only,” Lila said, setting her cup down. “Exclusive guest list, but of course, we’re on it. You should come.”
Asha scoffed, already shaking her head. “You know I don’t do the glam scene.”
“You do, you just pretend you don’t,” Dorian countered, eyes glinting. “But there’s something about this one. Feels like a bigger night than usual. Wilder’s calling in old names. People are taking notice.”
Something pulled tight in Asha’s chest. A flicker of heat. A shiver along her spine.
She didn’t know why the name Wilder struck her so strangely, or why the very idea of his club made her pulse tick up, but there it was. That same internal stirring she’d felt this morning in Val’s shop. Like a current waking under the surface of her skin.
Lila tilted her head slightly, almost as though something had startled her.
“You felt that?” she asked, her voice softer now, curious.
Asha blinked. “Felt what?”
She tried to keep her face neutral, but her pulse betrayed her. It drummed, loud and uneven. She hoped they couldn’t hear it.
“There was a pull,” Lila said carefully, studying her like someone trying to remember a name that had just slipped their tongue. “Just for a moment.”
Whatever she thought she saw in Asha, she didn’t say. The last thing Asha needed was a vampyre sniffing around a situation she herself had yet to understand.
Dorian leaned forward, placing a black card on the table between them. It shimmered faintly under the café lights, sleek and unmistakably expensive.
“Here,” he said. “Entrance for you and a plus one. Consider it a thank you for good service.”
Asha stared at the card for a breath too long, then closed her fingers around it, the texture cool and smooth against her skin.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, flashing them both her best winning smile. Asha feared she probably looked more like a horse grimacing.
Deep down, she already knew her answer. She wasn’t walking away from this.
