The streets felt different in the morning light—warmer, busier, alive with the soft clatter of carts and the hum of voices rolling between the narrow stone lanes. The workshops that had stood dark and shuttered the night before were now wide open, spilling fresh scents of polished wood, mana resin, and metalwork into the air.

  Tessa moved slow, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. It felt strange, having time. She let herself drift along the streets, following the gentle pull of curiosity more than any plan.

  One row of shops caught her eye first: small tables set out beneath striped awnings, each one glinting with delicate jewelry—rings, pendants, earrings, all made from the same mistglass she’d seen at the inn. The fog trapped between the glass layers rolled and curled, soft blue and silver, catching the light as she walked by. Just beautiful.

  Tessa stopped at one of the stalls, leaning down to peer closer at a thin chain threaded with small mistglass beads, each one glowing faintly like tiny captured stars. She reached out, careful not to touch, watching the mist swirl beneath the glass surface.

  “You’ve got a good eye for detail,” came a voice from across the table.

  The man behind the stall was older, human, somewhere past middle age, with deep lines around his eyes and rough hands stained faintly blue at the fingertips. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, the leather apron across his chest marked with scratches and melted wax rings. A pair of fine-tipped tools sat neatly arranged beside the display, each one polished and clean.

  “Beautiful work,” Tessa said honestly, gesturing toward the necklace. “Haven’t seen glass like this before I came up here.”

  “Mistglass,” the man replied, nodding once. “Harvested from the Hollow Vein. Best quality comes from the upper fog line—condenses clean up there, doesn’t cloud as fast.”

  Tessa tilted her head, still watching the beads shift as the mist inside rolled lazily along the curve of the glass. “It’s not enchanted?”

  “Not these pieces,” the crafter said. “Doesn’t need to be. Mistglass holds the fog on its own, no runework involved. Though,” he added, tapping the edge of the table lightly, “some like to bind stabilizers into the setting. Keeps the mist from breaking up over time. But that work is expensive to get and will need to be commissions at the Maker's Guild.”

  “Does it… leak out eventually?”

  The man gave a small shrug. “It can. Depends how it’s cut. The trick’s in sealing the edges clean.” He held up one of the pendants—a single droplet of glass with a wisp of fog swirling inside. “Like a jar with no lid.”

  Tessa leaned in a little closer, squinting at the setting. “How long does it last?”

  “Good piece’ll hold for twenty, thirty years before the mist fades out. Sometimes longer, if you’re lucky.”

  She let out a soft breath, half impressed, half thoughtful. “You made these yourself?”

  The man gave a slow nod, pride showing through the worn calm of his face. “Name’s Harnel. Been cutting mistglass longer than most of the harvesters out here have been alive.”

  Tessa smiled faintly, dipping her head in polite acknowledgment. “They’re beautiful. I can see why people would pay for it.”

  Harnel chuckled. “Ah, they like the shine. It catches the eye.”

  Tessa’s gaze lingered on the necklace a moment longer, fingers itching out of habit to study the craftsmanship, to understand how the mist was held so perfectly inside the smooth glass. The way the light played through it made the beads look soft as smoke. But she knew she couldn’t afford it.

  Harnel leaned back against the frame of his stall, crossing his arms loosely as he followed her gaze. “You know,” he said, easy and conversational, “for all the pretty shine these things have, most folks never see where they come from. The Vein’s not just fog and bridges. There’s tunnels down beneath the mist line—pockets where the mana crystals grow right out of the stone.”

  She glanced up from the necklace, curiosity pricking despite herself. “The harvesting happens down there?”

  “Aye.” He nodded. “The good stuff, anyway. Not the surface scrap they sell to travelers.” He gestured vaguely down the lane toward the row of shops. “Down in the tunnels, crystals can grow thick as your arm if you’re lucky. Raw and wild.”

  She leaned in a bit, eyes still on the swirling mist locked inside the glass. “Isn’t it dangerous working down there?”

  “Can be,” he agreed, his voice dipping lower. “The fog’s heavier inside the tunnels. Denser. If you don’t have the right gear—or the right sense—you can get turned around fast. Lose your footing. Lose the way back. There’ve been… accidents.”

  He paused, tapping one of the bead strings lightly with the handle of his tool.

  “But they keep harvesting,” he went on. “Work like this doesn’t happen topside.”

  Tessa’s gaze lingered on the jewelry, thoughtful. She could feel the old habit kicking in—the itch to know not just how something looked, but how it was made. Where it came from. How it worked.

  Harnel’s eyes crinkled at the corners, reading the interest on her face as easily as if she’d said it aloud. “Courier, right?”

  Tessa nodded, offering the faintest smile. “Yeah.”

  “Figured as much,” he said, gesturing toward her badge. “And Artisan archetype, same as me.”

  Tessa gave a small shrug, but didn’t comment. He leaned a little closer, voice dropping to something more friendly. “If you’re the curious sort—and crafters usually are—there’s a woman here in town who offers tours down into the lower tunnels. Name’s Vasha. Knows the Vein better than anyone still standing.”

  Tessa arched a brow. “A tour into the harvesting tunnels?”

  “Dangerous work if you’re there to cut crystal,” he admitted, “but a tour’s different. Shorter trips, proper gear, a real guide who knows the safe paths. Been years since anything’s gone wrong.”

  He gestured to the crystals again. “It’s one thing to hold a piece like this in your hand. It’s another to see it where it grows.”

  Tessa let the offer sit between them for a moment, weighing it. She wasn’t here for sightseeing. She had silver waiting on the other side of the bridge. But the thought of seeing the raw source, the real crystals before the polish—before the shaping—stirred something beneath her ribs.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said at last.

  Harnel nodded like he’d expected that answer. “If you change your mind, ask over at weaver’s row. Someone’ll know how to find her.”

  She gave a polite dip of her head, then turned from the stall—but not before casting one last look at the necklace, the fog still turning slow and soft beneath its glass shell.

  The next row of shops was quieter. No flashy displays, no groups of heavily armed adventurers bargaining over potions or maps. Here, the storefronts leaned more toward locals—harvesters, traders, and the occasional mage with a thick ledger under one arm. The few travelers moving through were dressed plain and practical, with the look of people here for business, not glory.

  Tessa slowed at one of the small stalls near the end of the lane. No mistglass jewelry here—just neat trays of crystals arranged by size and cut, each shard labeled in tight, careful script. Some were polished smooth, others left raw with jagged edges and cloudy veins running through the center. Above the trays hung a sign:

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Mana Crystals — Uncut and Cut

  The woman behind the counter was middle-aged, her sleeves rolled to the elbows, a small carving knife balanced between her fingers as she worked on a shard no bigger than her thumbnail. She didn’t look up when Tessa stepped closer.

  Tessa leaned in, eyes scanning the labeled stock. The uncut crystals caught her attention first—rough chunks, duller in shine, but still humming faintly with that quiet internal glow. There was something raw and honest about them that the polished cuts lacked. She found the price tags tucked beneath the edge of the tray. And winced.

  More than half my savings for the smallest cut with decent charge.

  Tessa bit the inside of her cheek, eyes drifting down the rows. She hovered a moment longer, then cleared her throat lightly.

  “Do you sell… scraps?” she asked. “Or pieces that are too small for regular use?”

  The woman paused in her carving, finally glancing up. Her eyes were dark and sharp, though not unkind. “Scraps?”

  “Yeah. Offcuts. Shavings. Anything left over after cutting.”

  The woman shook her head once, setting the knife down beside the shard. “No such thing, here.”

  Tessa frowned slightly, unsure if she’d misunderstood.

  “Every part of a mana crystal has its use,” the woman continued, her voice steady. “Powder, slivers, even the fragments—they all carry charge. You don’t throw away what’s valuable.”

  Tessa nodded slowly, not quite able to hide her disappointment. “Right. Makes sense.”

  The woman studied her for another beat, then tapped a smaller tray near the corner of the stall.

  “These are your cheapest pulls.” She picked up one of the pieces between her fingers—a tiny shard, no bigger than a bead, with just the faintest gleam of mana inside. “Uncut, but too small to hold any meaningful charge on their own. Most use them for decoration—rings, earrings, pendant work. Pretty, but don’t expect much out of them.”

  Tessa leaned in, eyeing the smaller shards. They caught the light well. But definitely not enough mana to power anything serious. Still… she felt that itch in her fingers again—the crafter’s curiosity.

  “What about binding a few together?” she asked.

  The woman smiled faintly. “You’d need a stabilizer net for that. Expensive work. And risky, if the net fails. Mana backlash from unstable clusters can burn through a workbench faster than you’d believe.”

  Tessa hummed, not pressing the question further. She let her hand rest on the edge of the stall a moment longer, weighing her purse against the soft glow of the crystals.

  “Thanks,” she said finally, stepping back. The woman nodded once, already returning to her carving. Tessa turned away, tucking her hands back into her pockets, the quiet hum of mana crystals still lingering in her thoughts as she moved down the lane.

  She’d known they were expensive—anything with mana in it was—but seeing the numbers up close had been something else. She exhaled through her nose and rubbed at the back of her neck.

  If she wanted to start working mana into Larry's gear—and that was a big if—she’d have to be smart about it. Not just tossing crystal fragments into a patch and hoping for a miracle.

  You’re a Patchwork Crafter, she reminded herself. Not an Enchanter. You stitch. You fix. You don’t burn coin on theories. But…

  The thought of what she could do with a power source, even a small one, clung to her like thread to resin. A reinforced strap. Maybe a single-use surge woven into armor padding. But she’d need a plan. And more money than she had right now to feel comfortable spending that much.

  She adjusted the weight of her satchel and looked back once toward the rows of shop. The job she is now on will pay her well. That was the main reason she’d taken it. If she saw this through, she could maybe reason with herself for one of the smaller uncut shards. And if she took the time, figured out a real design first… it wouldn’t be wasted.

  On the way back, she decided. After the delivery. If all goes well.

  The midday rush at the inn had come and gone, leaving behind the soft clink of cutlery and the hum of low conversation. Tessa sat alone near the wide front window, a shallow bowl of vegetable stew in front of her and a crust of bread torn in half beside it.

  It wasn’t fancy, but it was hot, and the seat by the glass let her watch the soft curls of trapped fog drift lazily between the windowpanes. She liked that part more than she’d admit.

  She dipped the bread into the broth and took a bite, chewing slowly, her thoughts still half-wrapped around mana shards and straps. A part of her itched to sketch something—to rough out ideas on parchment—but she forced herself to sit still. Eat. One thing at a time.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  She didn’t have to look up to recognize the voice. The forgettable voice that still managed to sneak up on her every time. Her shoulders tensed slightly. She looked up anyway. Rellen stood just beside her table, a plate in hand, his expression open and polite. The very picture of someone trying not to intrude—and managing it only halfway. She hesitated. The table had three empty seats, and she wasn’t technically using them.

  “…Fine,” she said, flicking her fingers toward the chair across from her. “But no commentary on how much I eat.”

  Rellen gave a quiet laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He sat without ceremony, setting his plate down—some kind of thick-cut roast and greens—and picking up his fork with easy rhythm. She watched him for a second, then went back to her stew, her movements more stiff now than before.

  “You always eat alone?” he asked, not looking up from his food.

  Tessa shrugged. “I always travel alone.”

  He nodded slightly, then took a bite before speaking again. “So, what’s your plan? Delivering something important?”

  Tessa hesitated. “Important to someone.”

  “That’s vague.”

  “That’s intentional.”

  Rellen’s smile widened slightly. “Fair enough. You headed out today?”

  She took another spoonful of stew, buying herself a second before answering. “I don’t have to.”

  “Oh?”

  Tessa sighed softly, resting her spoon in the bowl and glancing toward the mistglass window beside them. The fog inside shifted slowly, curling and rolling like it had its own lazy tide.

  “I was thinking about taking a look at the harvesting tunnels,” she said finally, tone carefully casual. “Someone told me there are tours.”

  Rellen raised his brows. “Dangerous place for sightseeing.”

  “I’m not planning to go spelunking.” She gestured vaguely. “Just curious. If I’m already here…”

  Her gaze lingered on the mist trapped in the glass. There was something calming about it, in the way it moved without ever escaping. Beautiful, even if it was just leftover fog.

  Rellen followed her gaze, then looked back at her. “So what made you curious?” he asked. “The crystals? The danger? Or is it just the thrill of seeing something most people only talk about?”

  Tessa raised a brow. “You sound like you’re trying to sell me on it.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  She gave him a flat look.

  Rellen smiled as if that were expected, then leaned back in his chair. “You know, if you’re going—I might as well come too.”

  Tessa blinked. “What?”

  He lifted a hand as if to deflect an objection. “Not trying to invite myself into your grand schedule, I swear. Just… figured it might be more fun with company.”

  She stared at him, unimpressed. “You think trudging through mana fog is fun?”

  “I think not doing it alone sounds better,” he said simply. “Besides, they’re less likely to run a tour for just one person. You and me makes two. More appealing for a guide.”

  Tessa opened her mouth to argue.

  He beat her to it. “And if the tour doesn’t run, you’ll just go back to sulking over stew and wondering what you missed.”

  She closed her mouth. Scowled at him. Looked back at the mistglass again. Damn him.

  “…Fine,” she muttered, pushing the last piece of bread through her stew. “But don’t talk the whole time.”

  Rellen raised his hands in mock surrender. “Silent as a shadow.”

  Tessa rolled her eyes. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

  “Probably not,” he said, finishing the last of his food with a casual shrug. “But you’re still letting me tag along.”

  Rellen chewed his food quietly for a moment, then glanced up at her over the rim of his cup. “So… courier work. Is that what you always wanted to do?”

  Tessa gave him a look. Not annoyed—more… tired. “Is that your way of asking if I had bigger dreams?”

  He gave a small shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just making conversation.”

  She dipped her bread in the stew again and took a bite before answering. “I wanted to craft,” she said eventually. “Still do. Courier work’s just… a way to pay for it.”

  Rellen nodded slowly, waiting to see if she’d continue.

  Tessa didn’t, not right away. But after a beat, she added, “I was supposed to be in the Maker’s Guild. Had a spot promised to me when I was a kid. But that got sold off.”

  “Sold?” he asked, tone light but curious.

  “Family debts,” she said simply. “The kind that doesn’t wait.”

  Rellen’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t press. “That’s rough.”

  She gave a noncommittal hum. “It was years ago. I’ve had time to get over it.”

  But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. He didn’t challenge her on it.

  “Do you like it?” he asked instead. “The running, I mean. Even if it’s not what you planned.”

  Tessa blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t a leading question. He actually wanted to know.

  She thought about it, slowly swirling her stew with her spoon. “Sometimes. When I’m out there, and it’s quiet, and there’s nothing but road and breath and motion… yeah. I do.”

  She looked up at him. “It’s just everything else that gets in the way.”

  Rellen smiled faintly at that. “That’s most things in life, isn’t it?”

  She studied him for a moment. “What about you?”

  He didn’t flinch. “I travel. See places. Talk to people. I like to keep moving.”

  “That’s not an answer,” she said.

  “No,” he admitted, still smiling, “but it’s true.”

  Tessa squinted at him, as if trying to catch whatever was just behind the surface of his expression. But again, there was nothing to hold onto. He gave so little away.

  Still, she found herself saying, “You’re not as annoying as I expected.”

  “High praise.”

  “I didn’t say it was a compliment.”

  Rellen laughed, not loud, but real. Tessa went back to her stew, chewing slowly, and for a moment, the quiet between them was easy. Companionable, even.

  She hadn’t made new friends in a long time. Most of her social circle had either drifted off after her schooling ended or had been tied to her family, her past, her failed expectations.

  Maybe making space for someone new wasn’t the worst idea in the world. She still didn’t trust him. But maybe that wasn’t a requirement. Not right away.