The air in the East Quarter shop no longer carried the scent of dust and decay. Instead, it was a clean, promising mix of lemon wood polish, fresh linen, and the faint, oily aroma of honed steel. The frantic energy of construction had settled into the purposeful rhythm of commerce.
Three women moved through the space with practiced efficiency, their movements a silent ballet of preparation. One, her hands calloused from a life at the loom, meticulously arranged bolts of sturdy, undyed wool and finer, imported silks on deep shelves, her touch ensuring each fold was crisp and inviting. Another polished the glass front of a display case until it shone, ready to hold smaller, more valuable wares. The third swept the finished oak floorboards one final time, her broom whispering against the grain, banishing the last symbolic speck of the market's neglected past.
In the center of the shop, crates stood open, their straw packing spilling onto the floor. But these were not crates of tools or building supplies. One was filled to the brim with expertly crafted daggers and shortswords, their blades dulled for safety but their edges perfect, their hilts wrapped in sturdy leather. Another held rolled-up gambesons and tunics of tough, quilted linen—practical armor for the common guardsman or aspiring adventurer.
The goods had arrived. The transformation was complete. This was no longer a renovation site; it was a place of business, poised and ready for its grand opening. The only thing missing was the crowd.
Their work was done. Now came the payment.
The fore-woman, the same grown, muscular woman who had first stepped forward, gave a curt nod. She didn't hold out her hand. Instead, she and the other two women each produced a small, smooth, milky-white orb from their pockets—a Requestal Orb.
"Ah," Elias's voice chimed in, a note of familiar social anxiety surfacing. "Right. Of course. This is how it's done. They'll tap their orbs to mine, and the agreed sum will transfer from my guild account directly to theirs. Instant, traceable, no fuss."
Joshey's confidence faltered for a single second. He had a chest of physical florins. He didn't have an orb. He didn't have a guild account.
*Why don't I have one of those?* he thought urgently at Elias.
"Why would I?" Elias shot back, a defensive shame coloring his thoughts. "It's a process. You need a stable income, a guild sponsor, a minimum deposit… I never had any of that. I dealt in copper and silver bits for vegetables. I never needed one."
The fore-woman was looking at him expectantly, her orb held out. The other women followed suit. The silence began to stretch, turning awkward.
Joshey didn't panic. He smiled, a disarmingly apologetic expression. "Ladies, my apologies. My own orb is… currently being recalibrated at the Guild after a rather vigorous negotiation session today." It was a smooth, complete lie, delivered with the ease of a corporate executive blaming IT for a delayed report. "The magic's on the fritz."
He saw the doubt instantly cloud their faces. Stories of proprietors skipping town on day-laborers were probably common.
"However," Joshey continued, his voice firm and reassuring, "a deal is a deal. Your pay is ready." He walked to the chest he'd left by the office door and flipped the lid open. The evening sun caught the stacks of gold florins inside, making them glow.
A collective gasp went through the women. Physical gold was a rarity for daily wages. The sight of it was visceral, undeniable proof of solvency.
"I can pay you right now," Joshey said, meeting the fore-woman's eyes. "In solid gold. But it means I'll need to make change, and you'll have to carry it. If you'd prefer to wait until tomorrow, I can have my orb sorted and transfer the silver directly. The choice is yours."
It was a masterstroke. He'd given them a choice, acknowledged the inconvenience, and presented the immediate cash not as a problem, but as a premium option. The women looked at each other, then at the gleaming chest. The impatience of a hard day's work won out over the slight hassle.
"We'll take the gold, Proprietor," the fore-woman said, a new layer of respect in her voice.
"Very good." Joshey made a show of carefully counting out the florins and then made change from a smaller pouch into the promised silver coins. Each woman was paid individually, the heavy, cool metal pressed into their calloused palms. The transaction felt more significant than any digital transfer ever could.
As the last woman pocketed her coins with a satisfied nod, Joshey looked at them. "Same time tomorrow? There's plenty more to do."
Eager agreements echoed back. They'd been paid fairly and immediately by a man who worked alongside them. Their loyalty, for now, was bought and paid for.
Recorder Finn, who had observed the entire exchange with silent fascination, gave a formal bow. "I will return to the Guild to file the day's expenditure report, Proprietor. I will see you at dawn."
Alone in the twilight, Joshey let out a long breath. The first day was over.
"You handled that well," Elias admitted, his voice grudgingly impressed. "I would have stammered and turned bright red."
*It's all about confidence,* Joshey thought, locking the chest. *And sometimes, a chest of gold helps.*
He didn't head home. He hefted the chest and walked with a determined stride through the lantern-lit streets until he pushed open the door of The Toasty Tavern. The diner was in the lull between the dinner rush and the late evening crowd. Sylvaine was behind the bar, polishing glasses with a clean cloth.
She looked up as he entered, her sharp eyes taking in the dust on his clothes, the tired but triumphant set of his shoulders, and the heavy chest he carried. She didn't say a word, simply raised an eyebrow.
Joshey slid onto a stool at the bar and set the chest down with a solid thud. "I did it," he said, the words bursting out of him with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.
"Did what, exactly?" she asked, her tone neutral, but her gaze was fixed on him.
"Everything," he said, and he launched into the story. He didn't leave anything out. He told her about the meeting with Thorne, the upfront negotiation for the market rights, the installment plan with a 25% interest rate that made her whistle softly under her breath. He described the derelict state of the market, the hopelessness of the previous overseer. He detailed his plan for recruitment, his speech to the laborers, and his decision to pay a silver florin a day.
He even told her about the Requestal Orb moment, laughing at his own quick-thinking lie about it being "recalibrated."
"So I paid them in gold from the chest," he finished, tapping the lid. "Best investment I'll make all week. They'll be back tomorrow, and they'll work twice as hard."
He finally paused, taking a deep breath and looking at her. "It's happening, Sylvaine. It's really happening."
Sylvaine had stopped polishing the glass. She was just staring at him, her expression utterly unreadable. The noise of the diner seemed to fade away around them.
For a long moment, she was silent. Then, she slowly set the glass and cloth down on the bar.
"Elias," she said, her voice low and measured, each word chosen with precision. "You negotiated a complex financial instrument with Cassimir Thorne, a man who eats seasoned negotiators for breakfast. You assessed a dead asset and saw potential. You developed a human resources strategy to attract and retain quality labor using financial incentives and personal leadership. You managed a cash-flow complication with improvisation and psychological insight. And you did it all in a single afternoon."
She leaned forward slightly, her silver eyes boring into his. The faint, familiar warmth she usually held for him was gone, replaced by pure, undiluted analytical shock.
"Who are you?" she whispered, the question not accusatory, but utterly bewildered. "The Elias I knew couldn't have negotiated the price of a turnip without getting flustered. This… this is a different mind entirely."
Joshey held her gaze, the adrenaline of the day still coursing through him. He just gave a slow, tired smile. "I told you. I realized pride doesn't fix holes. Maybe I just finally decided to start using my head for something other than failing at magic."
It was a deflection, and they both knew it. But it was all he could give her. For now.
***
The walk back to the hut was a long one, each step measured against the fading twilight. The weight of the day—the negotiations, the labor, the sheer mental exertion—settled into Joshey's bones alongside a profound, humming satisfaction. He pushed open the creaking gate to the small compound, the sight of the patched-up roof a welcome, if humble, sight.
He stepped inside, the familiar scent of old wood and dried herbs greeting him. He dropped the now-significantly-lighter chest of coins by the door with a tired thud and sank onto the rough-hewn wooden chair by the empty fireplace.
"We did well today," he murmured aloud, the words hanging in the quiet, dusty air.
"We did," Elias's voice echoed in his mind, but it was different. The usual undercurrent of anxiety was gone. In its place was a tone of quiet, stunned respect. "I… I have never seen anything like it. You spoke to Thorne as an equal. You commanded those women not as a master, but as a leader. You turned a wasteland into… into a possibility. In a single day."
Joshey leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "It's just the beginning. There's so much more to do."
"I know," Elias said. His presence in their shared mind felt closer, more focused than ever before. "And that is why I must speak. I have been… observing. Not just your actions, but the framework of your mind. The way you think is… fractal. It branches, it connects, it sees patterns I could never perceive. My knowledge is deep but linear. Yours is broad and… woven."
Joshey opened his eyes, intrigued. "What are you getting at, Elias?"
"I have been searching my own memories, the theoretical mana studies I abandoned when my practical skills failed," Elias explained, his mental voice thrumming with a new energy. "There is a concept. A theoretical one. Forbidden, some texts said. They called it 'Dual Core Consciousness.' It is not about mana channels. It is about the mind itself."
He paused, as if gathering courage. "It is the complete merging of two conscious mental frameworks into a single, seamless operating system. Not one dominating the other. A fusion. A synergy. It would abruptly increase our processing speed, our cognitive capacity, our intelligence… our everything. Our memories would become a shared library, instantly accessible. Our skills would compound. My knowledge of this world's laws and lore, your knowledge of strategy and management… they would no longer be separate. They would be one."
Joshey sat up straight. The fatigue vanished, replaced by razor-sharp attention. "A merger? You're talking about us… combining? Permanently?"
"Not erasing," Elias clarified quickly. "Harmonizing. Two melodies becoming one chord. Joshey, I have spent my life being less. Being inadequate. Today, for the first time, I saw what 'more' looks like. And I do not want to be a passenger in this journey. I want to be a part of the engine. I trust you. After all I have seen, I trust you. Let me help you. Let us help each other. Let's become what neither of us could be alone."
The offer hung in the air, immense and terrifying. To give up the last vestiges of his separate self? To truly, fully become one with this stranger from another world?
Joshey looked around the poor, broken hut, saw the patched roof, and thought of the vibrant market stall waiting for the dawn. He thought of the guilt he carried, and the legacy he wanted to build. He couldn't do it alone. He never could.
"Alright," Joshey said, his voice firm with resolve. "Let's do it. How does it work?"
"The texts were vague," Elias admitted. "It requires absolute, mutual consent. A conscious, willing unraveling and re-weaving of the self. We must both want it, completely. We must let go."
Joshey took a deep breath. "I consent."
"And I," Elias echoed, his voice filled with a profound, final certainty.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a pressure began to build inside Joshey's skull, not painful, but immense, like the entire ocean was being poured into a thimble. He felt a dizzying sensation of unraveling, his thoughts, his memories, his very essence spinning out like thread from a spool. Simultaneously, he felt another thread—Elias's thread—spinning out alongside his, the two strands beginning to whirl around each other, faster and faster.
He saw flashes of Lagos traffic, the smell of spiced food, the cold weight of the gun. He felt the bitter disappointment of a failed spark, the ache of lonely evenings, the complex theoretical equations of mana flow that Elias had cherished. His own corporate strategies tangled with Elias's understanding of guild law. His guilt over his friend's death met Elias's shame over his own weakness.
The two threads didn't fight. They danced. They intertwined, weaving into a single, stronger, brilliantly complex cord.
The pressure peaked.
And then—
SNAP.