The Shopkeeper's Tale

The small hearth in Cliff’s shop crackled softly, the flames dancing against the iron grate, providing just enough warmth to fend off the biting chill that seeped through the cracks in the stone walls. Shelves filled with jars of Glowthorn essence and bundles of dried Whispergrass infused the air with a gentle herbal scent, comforting to most.

Cliff sneezed and dabbed his nose with a handkerchief. He wiped his hands on another cloth, gazing out the frost-kissed window of Reuben’s Rise, watching adventurers trudge through the snow-laden streets, eager for their next dungeon exploration.

The door creaked open, ushering in a gust of frigid wind and snow. Cliff squinted, bracing himself against the cold. A tall figure stepped inside, shaking the snow from his coat. A familiar voice broke the stillness. “Where are ya? Can’t see ya.”

Cliff’s heart raced as he recognized Neil’s voice. “Neil. Didn’t expect to see you in this weather,” he replied, stepping into the light from the open door.

Neil chuckled, the sound echoing in the small shop. He surveyed the place with a critical eye, taking in the simple setup; the shelves of basic potions, the well-worn counters, the faded signs displaying prices.

“I didn't get to asking. But how did your parents react when you told them you weren’t going to keep running all the emporiums?”

Cliff shrugged. “Not sure. Just left them a letter saying I’m starting my own little shop. They didn’t spend a dime on my university fees since I had a scholarship. I imagine they’re both upset, but there are other suitable heirs. My cousins would be thrilled.”

“Won’t they come looking for you?” Neil leaned against one of the shelves.

Cliff took his sleeves and guided him closer to the fire. There were still remnants of breakfast in the makeshift tea room of his loft. He served an appreciative Neil two slices of bread with jam and cheese. They chatted about various topics for a while, but after finishing his bread and sipping his green tea, Neil turned to Cliff. His brow furrowed as he leaned closer. “Are you sure scraping by is enough for you?”

The words hit harder than Cliff wanted to admit. He avoided Neil’s gaze, busying himself with adjusting a jar of Glowthorn extract. “Yes, Neil.”

Neil hesitated before continuing, “It’s just that… with all your stories, your skills are so suited to the empire. You’re like a potential S-tier, true-blue platinum adventurer. A legend in the making.” He turned around. “If your parents don’t come for you, I imagine some Empire officials would.”

Neil’s eyes lingered on him, sharp. “It also seems a waste for you to be here. I mean, wow, it sure is nice to have you around, fitting me with the best armor for the coins I’m giving ya, but, I’m also concerned if this is what you want. If I had your skills, I’d be itching to make gold from my different stores.”

Cliff stiffened, the familiar defensiveness rising in his chest. “I’m not hiding. I’ve got a good thing here. People need basic supplies, nothing fancy. Keeps things simple. I want simple.” But it was true, Cliff thought. Sometimes, there was an impulse in him to steer away customers from swindling wanna-be merchants. And despite their shady personalities, Cliff also pitied them for tricking their customers. You had to sell to survive. Stealing resulted in death if you were caught. And even if you were in the wrong, merchants would only need to pay a bagful of silver to a waiting palm and they were set free.

That was why thieves sometimes partner with merchants and why merchants donate to the justice system and universities. That is why Cliff hated this Empire. He sighed. If it wasn’t for adventurers like Neil, he would abandon this realm and its empire and start a new life somewhere else.

Neil’s voice was soft. “I know you still care, Cliff, you softie. You weren’t afraid to take risks to help people in a bigger way. But now… I don’t want you to lose your spark.”

Neil's words hit Cliff. Back when they were kids, standing in the village square, Cliff haggled with a merchant twice his age. The merchant did not know who Cliff’s family was. Neil’s family was low on food, but Cliff managed to barter a sack of grain in exchange for some trinkets they’d scavenged from the woods. He was fearless back then, talking circles around the merchant until he got what they needed for half the price. Neil had watched in awe as Cliff grinned triumphantly, always finding a way to make things work, no matter how impossible it seemed.

Cliff swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his friend’s words. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was truth there. He had grown overly cautious and bitter. But what did Neil expect? The world wasn’t as kind as they once thought, and Cliff had learned that the hard way.

“I’m just realistic,” Cliff muttered, his tone flat.

Neil shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Realistic or jaded? There’s a difference, you know.”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Cliff felt the silence press in, heavy with unspoken regrets. Neil’s gaze stayed steady, watching him, waiting for something—anything—that might hint at the man Cliff used to be.

“You’ve still got time to figure it out, Cliff,” Neil said quietly. “Don’t let this place bury you.”

Cliff looked around his shop, seeing it through Neil’s eyes for the first time. The shelves felt a little too small, the fire a little too dim. He hadn’t realized how much he had let his world shrink, how everything faded into something smaller.

Neil gave him a long look. “I didn’t mean to get all up in your business, since I just came back into your life a few weeks ago, but I’m just askin to not forget who you are. You’ve still got more in you than this.”

With that, Neil clapped him on the shoulder, the warmth of his touch lingering as he turned and walked back out into the snow. The door shut behind him, leaving Cliff alone in the shop once more. The fire crackled, and the quiet settled in again, but now it felt different. Heavier, somehow.

Cliff stood there for a long moment, staring at the door, feeling the seed Neil had planted take root, unsettling the cold ground where he had grown too comfortable. Maybe Neil was right. Maybe he had let his spark fade.