Fickle Embers

The firewood crackled ever so slightly, the humble hearth seeming to echo the black-duvet quiet night, and smoke lazily twirled upwards the chimney, not concerned with the on-goings of the outside world.

His footsteps were void of sound, and his gait relaxed as he lounged around the potion displays. The boy had yet to come back from the kitchen with his cup of tea, but he was patient if nothing else. Plus, he could do with a bit of tea after such a long day.

"Here you go." Alas, he didn't have to wait for long anyway.

After pouring the beverage onto the man's cup, the boy put a bit for himself as well - an action that appeared to put the man to ease, for whatever reason.

"So, how can I help you?" The boy's voice was youngish, nine years at best if he were to speculate, "We have healing potions, paralyzing concoctions for hunting, as well as a whole plethora of other goods."

"I'm not buying, actually." The man drawled, sipping on his drink, "It's a bit late, and I might be overstepping, but I was hoping to talk with the owner."

That put a slight pause to the boy.

"Are you one of her business partners?" He asked.

The man could only smile, "Ah, no, I'm afraid not. Just an old acquaintance, that's all."

"Oh, I see." A beat of silence, "I'm sorry, but she's out traveling. Said she should be back by the end of this month."

A loud crackle of firewood resonated within the room then, and the boy could momentarily see a deep frown flick across the man's face. It was gone just as quickly, however.

"She never seems to stop in one place, now does she?" He joked, but the tone told otherwise.

A cough came from the man's throat, but it went ignored by both.

"Well, you could always wait by the inn. The Frozen Hearth is a great establishment, and it's just a few blocks down the road." The boy offered, but the man was already making it to the front door.

"I'm afraid that's not possible - can't stay for that long." He coughed again, this time more pronounced.

Just as he got to the door, however - the hearth's embers highlighting his back - he stopped. A rough and scarred hand felt around the doorknob.

At once, a dull red glow emanated from the metallic handle. It groaned in disturbance as the man estrangled it, unbothered by the heat.

The hearth now seemed to have grown cold, the firewood spent and consumed.

"Actually, there's one more thing." The man turned around, his face now contorted in shadows, the door handle bent beyond recognition.

"... Sir?" Came the bewildered voice.

"Have a good night," He opened his cloak, revealing an arsenal of blades and strapped-in weapons, "kid."

Before he could even step a single inch closer, though, a flash of surprise crossed his face. A raspy and estrangled cough escaped his lips, and his grey eyes widened in horror.

For a moment, his gaze seemed to linger on the boy's back, a teacup resting innocently against the counter, before all went dark.

Whatever he still had to say died out just as the last flickers of firewood did. The room now mirrored the dark-duvet night:

Dead silent.

*

*

*

His heart felt like not beating anymore, and his throat was suddenly dry. Green eyes stared at the corpse lying on the hardwood floorboards, no signs of breathing in the man's chest.

He had just dropped dead, as simple as that.

'How? What? Why?' A million questions thundered in his mind, gaze flicking to every nook and cranny of the shop in fright.

Until... the sight of an innocent teacup resting against the counter greeted him. Slowly, fingers trembling, he dragged his gaze down to his hands.

At once, the sound of breaking ceramic boomed in the dead silent room, his teacup splattering against the floor. A shiver crept his spine then, despite the lingering warmth from the hearth.

'Poison.' Like a broken record, the word rang within his head.

A wormhole of memories flashed in front of his eyes in mere seconds - the tension in Lyslenne's pace, the fuzzy feeling in his stomach, the 'heavy' food, the usual morning tea, the rules...

'She- she-'

A panic attack - he realized. He's just killed a man, even if indirectly, and now he was panicking. Thankfully, the brief moment of clarity was enough to collect himself, even if bits and pieces at that.

There was still a dead body on the front counter, after all.

He couldn't panic just yet - which, while rational, was still hard to put into practice. Thankfully, he's had his fair share of stressful situations till this point, enough so he could think clearly.

So, with an iron fist, he clamped down onto his fretting heart.

'He had weapons... he was about to- yes, Lyslenne could be protecting me.' He reassured himself, creeping closer to the stiff body, 'There is an explanation for this, I'm sure.'

Cold sweat coated his eyebrows, suddenly a lot of pieces fitting themselves together, 'She was... training my body's resistance? She suspected something like this- no, she'd even expected it.'

Lyslenne, turns out, had an even bigger secret than being an undercover vampire - and he didn't know how to feel about it.

Though... now that he reminisced on his life so far - she's been one of the very few good things to ever happen to him. Teaching him how to read, write, count, make potions - and, now that he reflected, poisonous cuisine as well - he owed it all to her.

She sheltered him, despite his crippled legs. She'd given him a chance, a home.

... It was only fair then that he gave her a chance as well, right?

*

*

*

Dragging the body outside was a no-go. Even though the boy could now walk without his crutches - he still had neither strength nor stealth to pull an adult's body without being seen.

The same went for leaving the body somewhere in the shop, as it wouldn't take long for someone to notice its putrescent smell.

This is why he stared at a container filled almost to the brim with water. Usually, it was meant to hold poisonous herbs and ingredients safely, but he'd repurposed it for more morbid intents.

The man's body lay at the very bottom, squished against the cast-iron walls. At first, pushing it down was a grueling task, but after not a meager amount of blood gurgled and air expelled - for reasons the boy knew not - the body sank like a rock to the bottom.

The less said about the body's stiffness, the better.

The poison seemed to have corrosive properties as well, the man's nose spurting blood like a fountain minutes post-mortem and his eyes shuddering with a hiss of sizzling flesh.

He couldn't even feel sad, though - or guilty for that matter. It was a strange feeling: one of loss and morbid stillness.

One moment the man was alive - years worth of life story told and some yet to be written - until, suddenly, he was no more. Now just bone, blood, and rotting flesh.

It was so simple, so anti-climatic.

Green eyes closed, his mind focused, and the image of a blank landscape painted the following darkness. He thought of the cold, of how tranquil everything would one day become, and as he opened his eyes, everything turned crystal clear.

This time, no clacking boom came from the feat of Magic - what graced the room instead was but a gentle whisper.

It twirled around the chairs, the potion displays, and the wooden floorboards - coming and going without disturbing anything in its wake.

The water froze, and only one noise or two sounded as signs of the increased water volume.

A Novice-level Spell.

"..."

At the very least, the one good thing he could gather from all of this was: he kept true to his deadline.

'Inspiration from Mundus... yeah, that seems about right.'