The wind picked up just as Kiriti reached the town square.
His boots scuffed across uneven stones, the too-big pair still dragging a little when he didn't watch his step. The folded scrap of parchment Captain Emeric had given him was tucked in his palm — crumpled slightly from the way he'd held it too tight, like it might vanish if he let go.
Marla's shop. Oil for the gate. Emeric's name.
Simple task.
But it mattered. Not because of a reward. Not even because Emeric had asked.
Because Kiriti had been trusted with it.
He passed a pair of boys tossing stones at a barrel. One wore a cracked wooden sword tied to his belt with twine. The other stopped long enough to glance at Kiriti's uniform — brown recruit tunic, crooked belt, dented buckle.
The boy wrinkled his nose.
"You're not a real guard."
Kiriti paused. "Not yet."
Then he kept walking.
Marla's shop sat under a crooked awning beside the shrine fountain — a squat stone building with one shutter hanging a little too low. The door had no bell, just a thin leather charm strung from the handle that slapped the frame as he knocked.
"Come in, unless you're selling teeth," a voice barked from inside.
Kiriti pushed the door open.
It smelled like dried herbs and rainwater.
Bundles of flowers hung upside down from the rafters — lavender, mint, things he didn't recognize. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with jars full of dust and seed and bone. The floor creaked under his boots.
A woman stood behind the counter. Wrinkled. Compact. Apron stained from years of spills. Her eyes, though — sharp as new glass.
"You're not my regular courier," she said, not looking up from the mortar she was grinding.
"I'm not," Kiriti said, trying to stand straight. "Captain Emeric sent me. For oil. Gate hinges."
That made her pause.
She looked at him. Then at the scrap of parchment in his hand.
She reached out and plucked it from his fingers like a librarian snatching a banned book.
"Hmph."
She read the note, then turned and shuffled to the back shelf without another word.
Kiriti waited. Awkward. He kept his hands clasped, trying not to bump anything. He glanced at a jar labeled chokeleaf and decided not to ask.
She returned with a small clay bottle sealed in wax.
"He never writes things down," she said, setting it on the counter. "Too proud to admit his memory's slipping."
"I thought he remembered everyone," Kiriti said softly.
Marla looked at him again. Longer, this time.
"Names, yes. Joints? Not so much."
She slid the bottle across to him, then folded her arms.
"Most players don't come in here. They get their potion fix from the alchemist up in Crownhold. Flashier."
Kiriti picked up the bottle gently. It was warm. He hadn't expected that.
"I like it here."
"That so?"
He nodded. "Feels like someone lives here. Not just… stands behind a counter."
Marla narrowed her eyes at him.
"You talk like you've got a story."
Kiriti smiled, a little embarrassed. "Not really. Just trying to learn other people's."
The wind rattled the charm on the door.
Marla turned her gaze back to the shelves. Her hands moved slowly now, brushing dust from a glass vial that looked like it hadn't been touched in years.
"My husband used to oil the gates himself," she said suddenly.
Kiriti blinked. "Oh?"
"Every week, like clockwork. Even after he retired. Said the gates were like bones — if you didn't keep them limber, they'd seize up. Break. Let in the wrong kind of silence."
She held the vial for a moment. Then set it aside and leaned on the counter with both hands.
"Players come in here and ask where the rare herbs are. Which fetch the best coin. Which quests they can cheese."
Kiriti didn't say anything.
Marla looked at him again. Her eyes softer now.
"You asked what this place smelled like."
Kiriti blinked again. "I did?"
"You didn't say it. But you were thinking it when you walked in."
He laughed under his breath. "Lavender. Rain."
"And ghosts," she said quietly. "But only the polite kind."
She waved a hand.
"Go on. The oil will work fine. Don't use too much. Save some for the north post if you're feeling generous."
Kiriti tucked the bottle into his pack carefully.
"Thank you."
"Come back when you're tired of people who don't listen," she said, already turning away. "I've got jars that need labeling. Names matter, you know."
Kiriti smiled.
"I'm starting to understand that."
Outside, the wind had died down.
The morning light slanted through the clouds just enough to give the cobblestones a golden tint.
He paused at the gate.
A woman across the road gave him a curious glance — not the kind players gave, measuring levels or equipment. Just curiosity. The human kind.
Kiriti nodded to her.
She blinked, then nodded back.
That was it.
But something felt different.
📄 [SYSTEM LOG — UNLISTED FLAG TRIGGERED]Subject: Kiriti• Repeat interaction with unaffiliated NPCs• Behavioral anomaly: conversational retention, delayed exits• Anchor Trace: Active (2%)
System Thread ["Spoken Bonds"]... initializing...