Elsewhere in Ginip...
The Artificer’s quarters were carved from stone and brimd with gears, levers, and half-finished constructs. A chanical sparrow clattered to life on a windowsill before dropping dead again, smoke trickling from its beak.
He stood by the window, smoking sothing pungent, eyes narrowed like he was watching a battlefield.
A lanky apprentice stumbled in, clutching a ssage scroll.
"Spit it out," the Artificer growled, not turning.
"H-he filed the claim, sir. With the Trade Registry. It went through."
A long silence.
The pipe froze in mid-air. "Claim? What claim?"
The boy swallowed. "Article Twelve, sir. Independent foreign rchant classification."
Then, slowly, the Artificer turned. His voice was flat, but dangerous. "They approved it?"
Article Twelve. That old piece of bureaucratic rot? No one used it anymore. No one even rembered it.
"Yes, sir. He... he made a formal filing, and it was processed this morning."
The Artificer narrowed his eyes. "That statute hasn’t been invoked in over a decade. It’s practically forgotten."
"I know, sir. But they couldn’t deny it. The law is still in effect."
"Tch! Go now and tell the people at the Trade Registry office to burn his papers."
"But I don’t think that’s possible now. It’s too late. Besides, he bribed more than us. Five hundred silver. Twice what we’ve been feeding them."
A long exhale. The pipe cracked in his hand. Glowing ash fell to the floor, unnoticed.
"So that’s it... A child throws coin at the door, and the city opens for him like a whore."
He turned away, gripping the stone windowsill until his knuckles went white.
"Paper shields," he muttered. "He thinks paper shields will stop ."
Suddenly, he spun, storming across the room. A stool went flying. A copper automaton crumpled under his boot with a tallic screech. Tools scattered. One wrench flew — thunk — embedding itself deep in the wall.
"He knew. That little bastard knew what I was doing. And he cut in. Not with power. Not with politics. With cleverness."
He stopped in front of the apprentice, who was trying very hard not to breathe too loudly.
The Artificer’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you know what I hate more than traitors, boy?"
The apprentice shook his head.
"People who play the ga better than ."
The apprentice hesitated, then dared a whisper: "What... should we do?"
The Artificer stared at the window again, then exhaled, long and slow.
"Bring Red Morn."
The boy stiffened. "Sir, are you certain?"
"I didn’t ask for advice. I asked for Red Morn."
The apprentice nodded and scrambled out.
Left alone, the Artificer looked at his ruined pipe, then tossed it into the forge fire.
"Let’s see how far you can go."
He stared at the smoke curling from the forge.
Then he smiled.
Back in the clothes store
"Very few people co to my shop to buy clothes for their slaves."
Kael didn’t reply.
Seris shifted awkwardly under Lirra’s gaze. "Is this... really okay?"
Kael turned to her. "I don’t half-do things. If you’re with , you deserve better. Clothes are a start."
Lirra clapped her hands. "Alright, co with , missy. Let’s see what I have in your size."
She led Seris behind a folding curtain into the fitting area.
Kael wandered around the shop as he waited. He examined a few bolts of cloth—coarse linens, dyed wool, a roll of fine silk he suspected wasn’t from here.
Minutes passed. Then Lirra’s voice called out.
"Alright, co take a look."
Kael turned as Seris stepped out from behind the curtain.
She wore a sleeveless, high-collared tunic in midnight blue, fitted around her waist with a braided belt, paired with snug black trousers and calf-high boots. A short jacket with silver accents frad her shoulders.
Her arms were still bandaged from old wounds, but her posture had subtly changed—straighter, more confident.
"What do you think?" Lirra asked proudly. "This was one of my better pieces. Took two weeks."
Kael blinked, then smiled. "It suits her."
Seris looked down at herself, touching the cloth like it wasn’t quite real. "Thanks for that."
"You don’t have to thank ," Kael said. "You’re part of the business, and you’re representing us now. Besides, I thought you’d look good in dark blue."
She smiled faintly, her eyes glinting. "Then I’ll make sure to live up to it."
Kael stepped forward. "We’ll take the set. And three more like it—sa cut, different colors."
Lirra’s ears twitched. "You’re spoiling her."
"No," Kael said. "I’m valuing her."
Lirra gave him a look sowhere between amusent and respect.
Kael paid for the new ones.
They stepped out of the shop. Seris carried the parcel in her arms, cradling it as if it were precious.
"Thank you," she said after a while. Quietly, but sincerely.
Kael glanced over. "You’ve earned it."
She didn’t reply right away. Then, after a mont, she said, "It’s strange. I still rember the first day in the slave camp. They made us throw out our old clothes. Even jewelry. Anything that reminded us of who we were."
Kael didn’t say anything. He let her speak.
"This is the first ti after those years I’ve worn sothing that feels like mine. Not sothing soone threw at ."
Kael gave her a sidelong glance. "You said earlier that it felt like you were free again. Do you still feel that way?"
She thought for a long mont. "Not quite. But today... today I feel like I’m starting to rember what that felt like."
Kael nodded. "Then we’re heading in the right direction."
They turned the corner toward their rented lodging, their shadows long in the afternoon light. The city murmured around them, unaware of the small but aningful shift that had taken place.
And Kael, walking beside a forr noble turned slave, turned bodyguard, turned business partner, smiled faintly.
It was a good day.
But he knew more would co. And not all of them would be peaceful.
Later That Night...
In a moonlit alley, a figure stood still as a gravestone.
Red Morn.
Tattooed hands. One eye covered by a burn scar.
The Artificer handed him a pouch.
"That’s the one," he said, pointing to a sketch. "Na’s Kael. Foreign rchant. Smart-ass."
Red Morn tilted his head. "Want him dead?"
"No. I want him humiliated. Bleeding. Scared. Alive."
"Alive is harder."
The Artificer smiled. "That’s why you’re getting paid."
Red Morn pocketed the sketch. "Anything else?"
The Artificer sneered. "He has a slave with him. A woman. Muscle. Kill her if she interferes."
Red Morn turned away. "They always interfere."
And far above the rooftops, a shadow watched the whole city.
Kael had bought himself ti.
But ti, like all things, runs out.
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