Amukelo woke up early, and after getting ready, he quietly left the room, careful not to wake Eliss, who was still snoring softly in the mess of her blankets.
Amukelo walked along the uneven paths of the town, scanning the area for anything of interest. Eventually, his nose caught the enticing aroma of food, and he followed it to a small stall with a grill set. An orc with a large, scarred hand was tending to slabs of meat, expertly turning them with a pair of crude tongs.
"Two portions of roasted meat," Amukelo said, gesturing toward the sizzling cuts.
The orc grunted in acknowledgment, flipped the meat once more, and handed Amukelo two steaming bundles wrapped in thick leaves. Amukelo paid with a few coins and took a bite from one bundle as he walked back to the inn. To his surprise, the meat was much better than what he had eaten at the pub the day before—juicy, smoky, and tender. "Not bad," he muttered, chewing thoughtfully. He decided to save the second portion for Eliss.
When Amukelo returned to the room, Eliss was just stirring, her hair was a mess and her eyes half-closed. She sat up slowly, rubbing her face and yawning as Amukelo stepped in.
"Good morning," he greeted her, holding out the second bundle of roast.
Eliss blinked at him groggily before her face broke into a satisfied smile. "You are a good man, Amukelo," she said, reaching for the food with both hands.
Amukelo raised an eyebrow. "You're only saying that because I brought you food," he replied, though there was a slight smirk on his lips.
Eliss shook her head, tearing into the roast with surprising vigor for someone who looked half-awake. Between bites, she said, "No, I mean it. I really appreciate it."
The sincerity in her voice caught Amukelo off guard. For a moment, he stood there, unsure of what to say. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he quickly looked away, scratching the back of his neck to hide his embarrassment. "It's no big deal," he muttered.
As Eliss continued eating, Amukelo said, "We'll spend a bit of time here today. I want to explore the town and see if there's anything of interest."
Eliss nodded, her mouth still full. After swallowing, she said, "I agree. There's no reason to rush. Besides, I want to see if they have any interesting grimoires around here."
Amukelo shrugged. "I don't know if they do, but sure, we can look. I don't have anything specific in mind to check out, so we'll start with that."
Eliss grinned, her earlier drowsiness fading into excitement. "Thanks! Let me get ready."
A short while later, they stepped out into the bustling town with their backpacks slung over their shoulders. The morning crowd had thickened, with orcs bartering at stalls, sparring in open spaces, and preparing for what seemed to be another busy day.
Amukelo and Eliss wandered through the narrow paths, scanning the unique wares and architecture around them. After some searching, they finally found a shop that looked like might have some magic items in it.
As they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Unlike the rough exterior, the interior was meticulously organized and clean. Rows of shelves made from polished wood lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged scrolls, grimoires, and peculiar trinkets. The air carried the faint scent of parchment and ink, and a soft glow from enchanted lanterns lit the room.
Eliss's eyes lit up as she took in the sight of the grimoires. "This is amazing!" she exclaimed, immediately gravitating toward the shelves. She began eagerly flipping through the covers, murmuring to herself as she examined the titles.
Meanwhile, Amukelo wandered aimlessly around the shop. His interest in magic was limited, but he couldn't deny that the craftsmanship of the items was impressive.
Amukelo explored the peculiar shop. The deeper he wandered, the more it felt like stepping into a different world. Each room seemed to have its own distinct character, with objects that defied logic and carried an almost tangible sense of mystery.
Amukelo found himself drawn to a small alcove where a lone glass bottle rested on a pedestal. At first glance, it seemed out of place in such a shop. Its cork was secured tightly, and the bottle itself was unadorned, but the contents were anything but ordinary. Inside, a swirling mass of colors churned like a miniature storm. It was mesmerizing—shades of gold, green, and crimson collided and twisted together as if alive, forming shapes that seemed almost recognizable before they dissolved into chaos again.
"What could this do?" Amukelo muttered to himself as he leaned closer, squinting to discern some meaning in the swirling patterns. He was about to reach for the bottle when a sharp voice startled him.
"Hey! Don't touch unless you're buying," the shopkeeper said sternly, appearing behind him as if from nowhere.
Amukelo jumped back, as his heart raced from surprise. "Oh... I'm sorry," he said quickly, trying to steady his breathing. "I'll keep that in mind."
The shopkeeper gave him a warning glare before retreating to the main area. Amukelo shook his head and let out a nervous chuckle. "Guess they're protective of their wares," he muttered, turning his attention elsewhere.
As Amukelo continued to explore, he stumbled upon another peculiar object—a tall, ornate mirror framed in dark metal. The glass itself had a faint reddish tint, giving it an ominous aura.
"What's a mirror doing in a place like this?" he wondered aloud, tilting his head as he approached it.
At first, it seemed like any other mirror, reflecting his image and the dimly lit room around him. But as he drew closer, the reflection began to change. The surface of the mirror rippled like water, and the scene within transformed into something entirely otherworldly.
The glass now displayed a battlefield—a vast, scorched plain under a blood-red sky. Flames erupted sporadically across the ground, and the air seemed thick with ash. The bodies of fallen warriors littered the landscape, their armor blackened and twisted, their weapons discarded among the battlefield.
But it was the figure in the foreground that captured Amukelo's attention. Standing tall with his back to the viewer was a warrior clad in white armor adorned with intricate, glowing golden runes that pulsed faintly like veins. The figure had white hair of a shorter length. In each hand, they held a sword—one gleaming silver with golden and green accents, that looked surprisingly similar to Amukelo's sword, the other a foreboding black sword with crimson veins etched along its blade.
Before the warrior, at a vast but somehow intimate distance, loomed a dragon of colossal proportions. Its seven heads towered above the battlefield, each one distinct yet equally terrifying. The dragon's scales were black as night, but cracks in its skin revealed molten lava coursing beneath, glowing like veins of fire. Ten massive horns jutted from its heads, curving like wicked spires. Despite its immense size, one of the dragon's heads was lowered, almost in a posture of deference or acknowledgment, as if it was studying the lone figure before it.
The scene was overwhelming, almost suffocating in its intensity. Amukelo couldn't tear his eyes away, his breath caught in his throat as he reached a trembling hand toward the mirror. He felt an inexplicable pull, as though the reflection wasn't just an image but a window into something far greater—something significant.
His fingertips hovered just inches from the glass when the shopkeeper's voice cut through the air like a whip.
"Hey! I told you, don't touch unless you're buying!"
Amukelo jolted back, and the spell broke. The image in the mirror vanished instantly, replaced by his own startled reflection.
Turning, he found the shopkeeper standing in the doorway glaring at him. "One more time, and I'll have to ask you to leave," the shopkeeper warned.
Amukelo raised his hands defensively. "I'm sorry, I won't touch anything else."
The shopkeeper gave him a curt nod before walking off again, muttering something about reckless customers. Amukelo glanced back at the mirror, now dull and unremarkable, and took a deep breath to steady himself. Whatever that vision had been, it had stirred something deep within him—a mixture of awe, fear, and an inexplicable sense of recognition.