One of the hidden inner courtyards of Lesser Amber Street was slowly coming to life, unnoticed by the other townspeople.
Where silence had reigned for years and dust had slowly settled, work was now in full swing. The doors of the weathered two-story house stood wide open, never closing for even a mont, and from inside, sacks stuffed with trash, rags, and compacted dirt were constantly being carried out.
At that very mont, Girren and Gilsh were coming out through the doorway, carrying another set of heavy sacks on their shoulders.
Gilsh, without even slowing down, burst out laughing: “Good thing there’s a bathhouse here! From all this cleaning, the dirt isn’t just on my face and in my ears… It’s even in my ass! I can feel it rubbing between my cheeks!”
Girren imdiately rolled his eyes, pressing his lips together.
“Will you shut up already…” he muttered, quickening his pace. “I don’t want to listen to this nonsense.”
But that only amused Gilsh even more.
“Oh, co on!” he went on, just as loudly. “I know you’re in the sa situation! Nothing to be embarrassed about—these are the consequences of honest work!”
Girren said nothing, only sped up slightly, trying to get at least a step ahead of him.
At that mont, through the open doorway, one could see the work in full swing inside.
The girls, having wrapped cloth around the lower half of their faces to avoid breathing in dust, thodically washed the dishes. Basins of water lined the tables—from murky, almost gray, to nearly clear. Every glass, plate, and utensil passed through several hands and several stages before being placed into a clean stack, glinting in the light.
Nearby, a little apart from them, Dorian was kneeling on the staircase leading to the second floor, carefully washing each step without stopping. His movents were asured and precise—he wiped along the corners, then returned to check if any dirt remained.
A bit farther away, Kael, sleeves rolled up, was going over the tables again with a cloth soaked in an herbal solution. It gave off a light, fresh scent, cutting through the stale odor of the room. He moved slowly, but without pause, paying attention even to small stains that didn’t co off at first.
Only one person in all this bustle remained completely uninvolved.
Barnabas was perched carelessly on the bar counter, legs dangling, drinking straight from a bottle without even bothering to find a mug. His gaze lazily drifted across the hall, watching as the house transford before his eyes.
Taking in the scene, he let out a satisfied grunt and said with a smirk, “Kids, you could sell your services. Cleaning this fast—that’s a talent!”
At that mont, Kael was finishing with the last table. He ran the cloth along the edge, then straightened and, not even hiding his fatigue, turned to the old man.
“Cut it out, you drunk,” he said calmly. “And get your ass up—I need to wipe down the counter.”
Barnabas didn’t argue.
He hopped down easily, swaying slightly as he landed, but quickly steadied himself, continuing to sip from the bottle.
Kael had already taken a step toward the counter when a quiet voice from the side stopped him: “Leave it to .”
Lissandra, not lifting her gaze from her work, reached out for the cloth, adding shyly, “You wanted to check the basent with Grandpa Barnabas, right?”
She said it calmly, but there was concern in her voice, as if she clearly saw that Kael had not yet recovered from his hangover.
Barnabas only broke into a satisfied grin, narrowing his eyes and shifting his gaze with interest from Lissandra to Kael.
“What a sweet girl…” he drawled with lazy approval. “Learn from her, kid.”
In response, Kael pulled the cloth away from his face and, with a crooked smirk, replied, “You want to be a sweet boy?” He narrowed his eyes at the old man. “So you’re not just a drunk, but a pervert too?”
The reaction was instant.
Barnabas swung the bottle at him, nearly spilling its contents.
“I ought to smack you, you brat!” he barked, though there was more amusent than anger in his voice.
Kael only snorted quietly, not even trying to dodge, and instead turned to Lissandra.
“Thanks for the help.”
Saying this, he gave her a short nod and, without lingering, headed toward the dark passage leading to the basent.
As he walked, he waved a hand at Barnabas.
“Co on, old man. The two upper floors were in terrible condition…” he glanced toward the staircase, then down at the darkened descent. “I’m afraid to imagine what’s going on down there.”
A cool draft and the scent of alcohol drifted from the opening.
Barnabas paused for a second, watching him go, then grunted, took a sip from the bottle, and followed at an unhurried pace.
A mont later, they were already descending the narrow spiral staircase. The stone steps spiraled downward, slightly damp, worn by ti, and their footsteps echoed dully in the enclosed space. The lower they went, the stronger the cool air beca, thick with the sll of alcohol, herbs, and sothing else—sharper, more pungent.
The staircase turned out to be shorter than expected. After only a few spirals, they ca upon a massive wooden door. Darkened by ti, with iron bands and faint traces of old seals, it looked far more solid than anything above.
Without slowing down, Barnabas gave it a lazy shove with his shoulder.
The door gave way with a dull creak.
And in the sa instant, the pitch-black darkness was cut by light.
One by one, magical lanterns along the walls flared to life. Their soft yet bright glow quickly filled the space, driving back the shadows and revealing the underground room in full.
Kael had already taken a step inside—but now he froze.
His jaw lowered slightly, his gaze slowly swept across the hall, catching on details, and he murmured quietly, almost bewildered, “I expected… sothing else…”
Barnabas stopped beside him, watching his reaction with satisfaction, and snorted, puffing out his chest, “You’ve got to respect alcohol.”
He took a swig straight from the bottle, then lazily gestured toward the room.
“There’s no place for ss in my workshop.”
Before Kael lay a spacious underground chamber, divided into several clear sections. Everything here was ticulously arranged: no dust, no excess items, no random disorder. The cleanliness and order were almost jarring after what had been upstairs, creating the feeling that he had descended into an entirely different place.
Barnabas confidently stepped inside first, as if entering his own domain, and, without turning back, pointed toward the nearest section by the entrance.
Along the wall stood massive wooden crates filled with grain, their tightly fitted lids leaving no gaps—neither moisture nor pests could get inside. The wood was treated and sealed, and simple protective symbols, burned in by a rough but steady hand, were visible on the lids.
A little farther ahead were heavy stone millstones. Their surfaces were covered in runes and fine magical circles woven directly into the stone. The millstones did not look decorative—they were working tools, used more than once for their intended purpose.
Nearby were shelves filled with bundles of dried herbs, roots, and small sacks of powders. So gave off a faint fruity aroma, blending into a complex, layered scent that made his head spin slightly.
In the corner stood a wide vat for soaking mixtures. Its wood had darkened with ti and constant use, yet the surface remained smooth, without cracks or chips. tal bands held its shape tightly, and along their inner edge were traces of fine engraving.
Stepping closer, Barnabas lazily pointed at it with his bottle and muttered with satisfaction, “Doesn’t look like much, but it’s a valuable item. Had it made by the Provisioning Guild itself.”
Kael narrowed his eyes slightly, studying each elent and tool more carefully. They might look plain, but he understood perfectly well that each item was essentially a magical artifact.
“The old man wasn’t joking,” he thought. “He really is a master.”
“A little further is the brewing section,” Barnabas said offhandedly, already moving forward.
Kael glanced ahead, following him, and imdiately noticed two large copper cauldrons set on massive stone bases. The tal was polished to a soft sheen, though darkened in places by heat and ti, revealing long years of use.
Beneath the cauldrons were furnaces, neatly constructed from black stone. Each had separate dampers, allowing precise control of the heat.
A system of pipes and valves ran to each cauldron. So were made of ordinary tal, but certain sections glowed faintly with thin lines—magical inscriptions woven into the tal, enhancing the flow and, judging by the structure, stabilizing the process.
Kael walked after him, unhurried, letting his gaze slide over the details.
Near the cauldrons stood long stirring rods with weighted blades, clearly designed for dense, viscous mixtures. Hooks lined the walls, holding asuring ladles—of different volus, yet each bore precise markings. No improvisation, only precise asurent.
A little farther on lay the storage area.
Rows of wooden barrels stood in almost perfect alignnt, each tightly sealed with a narrow valve on top. So were wrapped in leather straps, others reinforced with tal rings.
From several of them ca a quiet, almost living gurgling.
Barnabas stopped, tilting his head slightly, and grunted, “Hear that?”
He took a sip from the bottle and added with satisfaction, “The drink is welcoming us.”
Kael tilted his head slightly, listening to the soft bubbling, but almost imdiately his gaze moved deeper into the room, to where the lighting fell differently.
“I see you brew different types of drinks…” he murmured quietly, narrowing his eyes slightly.
Barnabas glanced at him, and there was more interest in his smirk now.
“So you really do know sothing.”
Where Kael was looking, there was another section, distinct from the others in its layout. In the center stood a distillation apparatus—tall, assembled from copper and dark glass. Its base was a massive cube, from which a curved pipe rose upward.
The pipe curved into a spiral leading into a cooling tank.
The tank itself looked unusual: its surface was covered with a thin layer of frost, as if a low temperature was constantly maintained inside. Along its walls faint magical lines ran, sustaining that state without any external source of cold.
Even from a distance, the difference was noticeable—the air near the apparatus was slightly colder, drier.
Kael lingered on the joints, on the smooth curves, on the points where tal t enchanted glass.
“Distillation… purification… separation of fractions…” he thought.
But at that mont, Barnabas abruptly changed direction, turning toward a massive table standing in the very center of the room.
“This is where the real magic happens,” he said with particular reverence, stepping closer. “The secret of my recipes.”
He slowly ran his palm across the surface, and at that very second, the table seed to co alive.
Runes flared across the stone slab, one after another, forming a complex structure. Lines began to move, intertwining, as if a hidden system within the table had awakened.
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And the mont Kael saw it, his mouth parted slightly.
“Culinary awakening…” he breathed in disbelief.
Barnabas froze mid-step, then slowly turned his head toward him, raising his brows.
“You know what this is?”
For the first ti, there was seriousness in the old man’s voice, not just drunken bravado.
Kael almost imdiately caught himself, jerking his shoulder slightly as if embarrassed by his own knowledge.
“I’ve only read about it in ancient records…” he replied quickly, averting his gaze to the runes. “I didn’t think sothing like this existed in the Capital…”
He took a few steps forward and, not hiding his interest, placed his palm against the surface of the table.
Outwardly, Kael’s curiosity was obvious, but inside, entirely different emotions were churning.
The mont he touched the active runic lines, he sensed a complex structure hidden beneath the surface. The flows of mana were not rely stable—they were arranged with frightening precision, as if every symbol knew its place. The system was so intricate that, at his current level, Kael simply could not perceive it in full.
“Artifacts like this,” he thought in puzzlent. “Can artisans in the Capital really create such things?”
Barnabas frowned more deeply, his gaze lingering on Kael’s face for a mont before sliding down to his hand, still resting on the table.
“Kael… Do you know what this is?” he asked again.
Barnabas walked around the table, running his fingers over the carved lines in the stone as if testing them by touch, and stopped opposite him.
“I bought it about twenty years ago… at an auction.”
As he spoke, he tapped one of the runes with the bottle, then ran his fingernail along it.
“No one knew what this table was for. Most of the bidders agreed it was decorative…” he smirked slightly. “I, on the other hand, was curious about the inscriptions on it. So I picked it up for cheap.”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his palm on the edge of the table.
“And then one night I got so drunk I left a bottle of wine right here.”
He rapped his knuckles against the surface and gave a short grunt.
“I woke up—and the wine’s different. Thicker, richer… the mana inside had thickened.”
He straightened, narrowing his eyes, and looked directly at Kael.
“Since then, I always infuse my drinks with mana.”
The pause was brief, but heavy.
“I tried to find out where this table ca from, and whether anyone could make another one. But all my attempts were in vain,” he added, tilting his head slightly. “Didn’t think soone from the backwaters would know about it…”
Kael froze for a mont, not even removing his hand from the table. His gaze unfocused slightly, as if he were looking not at the runes before him, but sowhere deeper.
“This is a Gourt’s Arcane Table…” he thought.
His mory responded at once, pulling up old notes he had once read in passing. Lines surfaced in fragnts, yet the aning ca together.
“Satisfying especially powerful mages is extrely difficult. Food and drink differ from elixirs and pills. One cannot preserve a rich flavor without losing most of the mana.”
Kael slowly ran his fingers along the glowing lines, while in his mind the words of an ancient mage specializing in the culinary craft continued.
“That is why the greatest chefs created the Gourt’s Arcane Table. An artifact that allows mana to be retained and condensed within a dish without ruining its flavor. With it, and with special preparation thods, even the most demanding guests can be satisfied.”
The thought broke off, and he blinked, returning to reality.
Kael’s gaze slowly moved across the workshop, lingering on the sections they had just passed through.
“The old man infuses the grain with mana…” he noted to himself, recalling the vat at the entrance and the engraved circles on it. “And among the ingredients I saw mixtures containing ground mana crystals… He also uses certain valuable herbs and roots that contain a lot of traces of mana.”
He cast a brief glance at Barnabas, as if reassessing him—not as a drunk, but as a craftsman.
“During the brewing process, most of that mana dissipates… nearly fades,” he continued inwardly, returning his gaze to the table. “But the Gourt’s Arcane Table restores its strength… albeit for a short ti.”
More fragnts of those sa notes surfaced in his mind, now forming a more complete picture.
“The gourts of the Capital must love drinks like this…” the thought flickered. “They’re no match for elixirs, but they still restore mana. In essence, they combine pleasure with utility.”
And for the first ti since descending below, his gaze held not just interest but calculation.
“Kael?” Barnabas repeated, frowning slightly and snapping his fingers in front of his face. “You going to answer ?”
Kael jerked slightly, as if surfacing from deep water, and blinked quickly, snapping back to the present. A faint, almost apologetic smile appeared on his lips.
“There was a book in the archives of Lasthold…” he began, removing his hand from the table. “It described a similar artifact.”
He glanced at the runes for a mont, choosing his words more carefully now.
“It said it was used to serve gourts. If food is prepared in a special way, using ingredients rich in mana, the table allows most of the mana to be preserved.”
After a brief pause, Kael added, “It was described as if the ‘dead’ mana ca back to life. Only for a few hours, but that’s more than enough for a mage to eat and gain its benefits. Ordinary dishes can’t compare to that.”
He gave a slight shrug.
“But I didn’t know you could do the sa with alcohol…”
Barnabas froze, raising his brows, and for a mont even paused mid-reach for the bottle.
“A few hours?” he repeated, genuine surprise flickering in his voice.
He gave a short grunt, shaking his head.
“When I infuse my drinks with mana, the effect lasts about two weeks…”
He looked at the table again, then at Kael, more intently now.
“So either your books are outdated…” he drawled, narrowing his eyes, “or I’m doing sothing right without even realizing it.”
Kael thoughtfully rubbed his chin, not taking his eyes off the table.
“Maybe it’s the storage thod,” he drawled. “A bottle helps slow the dissipation of mana. A sealed space, plus glass—if it’s even slightly enchanted—the effect might be sustained.”
Barnabas imdiately picked up on the idea, leaning forward slightly.
“Or it’s the thod of preparation,” he added, squinting. “Alcohol is concentrated, after all. The ingredients go through ferntation, steep longer… the mana has ti to sink in deeper.”
They fell silent for a mont.
Both were looking at the table—but differently now. Not as a curiosity, but as a challenge. A tense silence hung in the air, almost tangible, like between two people who had suddenly found themselves on the sa wavelength.
And in that brief mont, they looked more like partners than strangers.
“Why didn’t I think about food before? It’s obvious…” Barnabas muttered thoughtfully.
Kael, however, looked different. The corner of his mouth twitched, and a cunning calculation flickered in his eyes.
“Old man…” he said, tilting his head slightly. “If we learn to figure out how to do this with food… and add to that recipes for drinks that are exotic in the Capital…”
He tapped the table lightly with his finger, as if fixing the thought in place.
“Your tavern could beco truly popular. Naturally, with our help.”
The words ca out calmly, but there was weight behind them.
Barnabas’s eyes glead at once. A sly smile slowly spread across his face, almost mirroring Kael’s expression.
“I like the way you think, kid. But you do rember you promised the lion’s share of the profits? And that this lovely little table is mine.”
Kael only smirked, not answering imdiately. Stepping closer, he casually slung an arm over Barnabas’s shoulder, as if they had long had an understanding between them.
“Old man…” he drawled in a more businesslike tone. “You said it yourself—fate brought us together. You think we won’t be able to work sothing out?”
He gave his shoulder a slight squeeze, then clapped Barnabas on the back, not giving him ti to raise objections.
“As soon as we finish cleaning, I’ll put together a couple of interesting recipes. We’ll see how ready you are to be surprised.”
Barnabas snorted, but interest flickered in his eyes. He waved his hand, and a spatial ring glinted briefly in the air. A mont later, a worn, rough notebook with bent corners appeared in his palm.
Without ceremony, he shoved it into Kael’s hands.
“For starters, look through my notes,” he said, squinting. “Maybe your ‘unique’ recipes aren’t so unique to .”
There was the usual jab in his voice, but without its forr mockery—more like a test.
Kael gave a short laugh and clapped the old man on the back again.
“I like you more by the hour, old man.”
Barnabas answered with a brief laugh of his own, then waved a hand sowhere deeper into the cellar.
“There’s an empty room I ntioned. That door in the corner,” he added, nodding in that direction. “You wanted to take a look, didn’t you?”
Kael was already moving that way, flipping through a couple of pages of the notebook as he walked, his gaze skimming over the notes.
“Honestly…” he called over his shoulder, “after your workshop, I couldn’t care less about that extra room anymore.”
But he didn’t slow his step.
Barnabas only laughed, watching Kael go. Yet deep in his eyes, sothing other than amusent flickered.
The old man’s brows drew together slightly, his gaze growing heavier, more focused, as if he were trying to discern sothing in Kael that wasn’t obvious at first glance. In that brief mont, a flicker of suspicion and confusion passed through him.
He was silent for only a second, but it was enough for sothing to stir inside.
And then it was gone.
Barnabas suddenly slapped his palm against the table, as if shaking off the thought, and strode after him with a satisfied air, once again becoming his usual carefree self.
“There used to be another kitchen down there,” he said in his usual tone. “The oven can be removed.”
His voice ca just as Kael stopped at the door. Without turning, he pushed it open.
The door gave easily.
Light flared inside at once—the magical lanterns responded to movent, softly illuminating the room.
Kael stepped in and paused for a second.
Then the corners of his lips slowly curled upward, spreading into a much wider, almost predatory grin.
The room was spacious and nearly empty. Bare walls, a smooth stone floor, no excess clutter, no signs of neglect—as if this part of the house had simply been waiting to be used.
In the corner stood a massive furnace, imdiately drawing the eye. The stone had darkened with ti, traces of past heat visible along the edges, yet the structure itself remained intact and solid.
Kael stepped closer, but it wasn’t the furnace itself that caught his attention.
He lifted his gaze slightly higher and narrowed his eyes, studying the chimney. Runes ran along the stone, inscribed into the masonry, thin lines forming a cohesive system stretching upward.
“What a powerful draft system…” he murmured quietly.
Barnabas imdiately moved in beside him, nearly pressing shoulder to shoulder, and, craning his neck as well, squinted as if trying to understand what exactly Kael was looking at.
“Is that good or bad?” he asked, not hiding his curiosity.
Kael gave a short laugh, not taking his eyes off the runes.
“I’d say it’s excellent. If I had enough money, this place could be turned into my own forge.”
At those words, Kael’s gaze sharpened, calculations already forming in his mind.
“Gilsh will love this…” he added under his breath.
He swept his gaze across the room once more, noting distances, height, wall placent, and in his mind a clear picture began to take shape.
“This house will beco our base of operations…”
“While the others are learning the Imperial language, there won’t be much workload at the Academy…”
His gaze shifted toward the entrance, where the workshop lay behind them.
“But in a few months, we won’t have the luxury of spare ti. We’ll have to focus entirely on studies and training.”
For a mont, his eyes hardened.
“Which ans in the next month or two, we need to set everything up here. Make sure the tavern earns enough to live on… at least for now.”
✦ ✦ ✦
The cleaning dragged on almost until nightfall.
Ti seed to blur into one long effort: hauling sacks, carrying out junk, scrubbing floors, washing walls, sorting through belongings, salvaging what could be saved. The work never stopped, but with the shared pace and constant movent, fatigue felt distant, pushed to the background.
And yet, by evening, the result was obvious.
The house had transford.
The dust was gone, surfaces seed to breathe with cleanliness, the air felt lighter. Not perfect, not yet—traces of ti still lingered here and there—but it was already a place one could live in.
All that remained was to carry out the sacks of trash, neatly piled in the inner courtyard—a dark heap reminding them what the house had been that very morning.
At that mont, everyone had gathered on the first floor, in the forr tavern hall.
Around a wide round table, which only recently had been covered in dust, now sat nine people. The wood had been thoroughly cleaned and now faintly glead in the lamplight.
Everyone looked tired, yet at the sa ti refreshed.
So had gone to wash earlier, others later, but each had managed to clean off the gri and change into fresh clothes.
The girls’ hair was still slightly damp, though it hardly concerned them now. Their attention was fixed on the generously set table.
Various snacks, sliced ats, bread, and cheeses—everything laid out simply, but with care. In the center stood a large roasted bird, browned to a golden crust, surrounded by baked vegetables giving off a rich aroma.
The scent filled the hall, mingling with faint traces of herbal cleaners and fresh air.
Roselle was the first to give in. Licking her lips, she quickly gathered her red hair into a ponytail and leaned forward slightly, a lively sparkle in her eyes.
“That looks delicious!”
Violet, seated beside her, gave a short nod, then glanced at Dorian. Hesitating slightly as she searched for words, she spoke in broken Imperial, “Can’t believe… cooked so fast. Slls very good. Thank you, Dorian.”
Dorian froze for a second, as if he didn’t imdiately realize he was being addressed, then gave a slight nod, looking away. He seed calm, but the way he carefully adjusted his sleeve showed he appreciated the praise.
Barnabas, anwhile, sprawled in his chair, waved his hand, and several bottles of wine appeared in the air, landing on the table with a clink. He laughed and said with satisfaction, “Didn’t think I’d ever see the ‘rry Drunkard’ like this again. You’ve breathed new life into this place, kids!”
Kael and Girren rose from the table almost at the sa ti, as if understanding each other without words. Girren silently picked up one of the bottles and pulled the cork, while Kael was already setting out glasses, moving around the table.
The wine poured smoothly, filling the glasses with a soft splash. The scent grew richer, warr, blending with the aroma of the food and creating a sense of closure to the day.
Kael held the bottle for a mont, looking over everyone, and exhaled with quiet satisfaction.
“We all did great.”
The words were simple, but behind them stood the entire day—dirt, exhaustion, laughter, argunts, and silent perseverance.
When the last glass was filled, no one remained seated.
Chairs scraped back from the table almost in unison.
So smiled, so straightened up tiredly, but in everyone’s eyes was the sa thing—a warm, vivid feeling.
“Housewarming, everyone!”
“Congratulations to us!”
“To a new life!”
The voices rged, overlapping, only growing louder because of it. Glasses were raised, and in that mont their shouts spilled beyond the hall, rolling through the open door into the inner courtyard.
The sound echoed off the walls and dissolved into the noise of Lesser Amber Street, blending with distant voices, footsteps, and the life of the city at night.
And yet, in that brief mont, the house seed to make its presence known.
Quietly, for now.
But as Kael intended, its true declaration was still ahead.
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