The night had deepened by the ti Damien stepped out of the third shop. "Ugh... Even shopping is tedious."
Lanterns were dimming across Westmont's lanes. A soft breeze rolled through the streets, sending whispers across banners and tugging gently at his coat.
Most shopkeepers had begun turning their wooden signs to CLOSED, and the last of the lingering shoppers were already on their way ho.
But Damien wasn't quite finished.
He still had one stop left.
His last three visits had been efficient, if nothing else. The second shop—a compact herbalist run by an old alchemist nad Berro—had offered everything from monster salve to sleeproot.
Damien had purchased two pouches of purified salve, a small vial of anti-venom concentrate, and a bundle of dried wildleaf herbs used for slowing infection. He didn't have a healer with him after all.
Berro, the shop owner had grunted a greeting, asked no questions, and given him a discount. Damien paid him double anyway.
The third shop had been a specialty equipnt vendor tucked into an alley beside a shop he was quite familiar with.
There, he'd purchased two new flintstones, a dagger whetstone, a maintenance oil for Aquila's talons, and three small collapsible traps for small ga—perfect for travel.
Now, he found himself in front of a narrow building with curtained windows and a wooden sign painted with simple inkbrush letters:
Woven Thread – Garnts for All Walks.
It was one of the few still-open shops on this side of the city.
He stepped down from Aquila once more, letting the griffin rest beside the stoop. Luton, who had long since gone quiet, bounced lightly once and returned to his usual place atop Damien's head.
Inside, the shop slled faintly of lavender and freshly-dyed cloth. Folded tunics lined the left shelves while cloaks and trousers filled the right side.
Behind the counter stood a young woman with her hair tied in a tight bun, spectacles pushed up her nose, and a asuring tape draped around her neck.
Her face lit up at the sight of him.
"Ah! Late-night shopping from you is rare. Scratch that, shopping from you is rare," she said brightly.
Damien nodded. "Need replacents."
"For you or for others?"
"Both."
He browsed in silence for a few minutes, ignoring the way she watched him with mild amusent. He pulled two black shirts, two pairs of travel trousers, and a new long-sleeved tunic for himself—lightweight but with hidden threading, perfect for combat layering.
Damien selected simple clothes for Lyone, guessing his size: a loose white shirt, dark pants, and a short cloak that wouldn't drag on the ground.
He paused.
Clothes for Arielle?
No. He didn't know her asurents. More importantly, she wouldn't take kindly to it.
And knowing her, she already had six travel sets pre-packed and waiting anyway.
Damien returned to the counter and dropped the items without a word. The shopkeeper did her math, then looked up with a smile.
"That'll be two gold, one silver."
He paid the full amount in gold.
"No change."
"Of course not," she said with a grin, taking the coins.
Damien looked at Luton.
"Store it."
The red sli blooped once, then slithered up onto the counter and quickly absorbed each folded garnt, sucking them into its space like a sponge taking in water.
Monts later, it returned to Damien's head—now only slightly heavier with its full belly of cloth.
He turned without further comnt, stepping out into the cool night air once more.
The streets were nearly empty now. A few guards on patrol passed without speaking, nodding politely as Damien led Aquila away from the shop.
A pair of young lovers rushed down a side alley, hand-in-hand, laughing about being caught out after curfew.
Damien ran a hand down Aquila's side, patting the griffin gently.
"Looks like our shopping ends here for today."
The beast let out a soft huff of agreent.
The walk back to the guild would take twenty minutes at a steady pace, but Damien had no desire to stroll his way through sleeping streets when he could fly.
And besides, he felt the itch—his instincts pulling at him.
He mounted Aquila once more.
"Take us up," he murmured. "Sky route back."
The griffin leapt into the air with a single beat of its wings, lifting them from the ground in seconds. Damien leaned forward slightly, watching as the town below shrank away beneath them, the rooftops forming a quiet mosaic of brick and stone.
But halfway through the rise, he changed his mind.
He narrowed his eyes as they passed over the western sector, gaze shifting from shop to alley to rooftop.
A routine check wouldn't hurt.
A quiet scan from above could be done in under an hour—and if there was anything Damien believed in, it was that cities were always loudest when they were pretending to be asleep.
"New plan," he told Aquila, gripping the reins lightly. "Sweep the town. Grid pattern."
Aquila shifted instantly, banking to the left and circling into a wide arc.
They flew in silence. The stars above shimred cold and distant, and the city below rolled out in silver and blue. Streets crisscrossed like veins, and lamplight pools stretched from one end of the town to the other.
Everything seed normal.
Until—
Movent.
Damien narrowed his eyes as he spotted a figure crouching near the side door of a jewelry shop, tools in hand, body pressed close to the fra.
"Got you," Damien muttered.
He tapped Aquila twice. The griffin lowered altitude in near silence, circling downward like a hunting hawk.
They landed soundlessly in the alley adjacent to the shop. Damien dismounted and adjusted the cloth mask he pulled from his coat pocket, tucking his silver hair out of sight.
His blue eyes still glowed faintly in the dark, but that couldn't be helped.
He waited.
The burglar cracked the door, slipped inside with a satisfied grunt, and vanished into the shadows.
Damien followed monts later, slipping through the door without a whisper.
Inside, the burglar worked fast—box after box emptied, jewelry dropped into a large sack. His movents were quick but sloppy. Greedy. Untrained.
Damien leaned casually against the far wall, watching.
He didn't interrupt.
Not yet.
Only when the man turned to leave, sack slung over his shoulder, did Damien speak—his voice smooth and amused.
"You done looting, or do you need a minute?"
The burglar spun, startled, and reached for a blade.
But Damien was already on him.
A quick strike to the wrist. A punch to the gut. A low kick to the knee.
The man dropped like a rock, groaning.
"W-Who the hell are you?!"
Damien knelt beside him, pulling the bag of stolen goods away.
"Just your neighborhood friendly hero."
Bang!!
Then he knocked the man out cold.
Five minutes later, the thief was tied with rope from Damien's own belt. The bag of jewelry was placed beside him. Damien left the store exactly how he found it—quiet and locked.
Outside, Aquila and Luton waited, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
Damien peeled off the mask and climbed back up.
"No need to report that one," he muttered. "He'll wake up embarrassed enough."
He glanced down the road.
The small restaurant near the guild—warm light still spilling from its windows.
"Let's go," Damien said, tapping Aquila's neck. "I've earned dinner."
The griffin leapt skyward once again, and Damien let the wind carry him back—toward food, warmth, and the few peaceful hours left in the night.
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