Chapter Text
After the incident with the Trombe, Myne was finally allowed to rejoin Lutz in their shared workshop. The week-long delay hadn’t slowed them down much—on the contrary, it seemed to renew their determination. Their latest batch of paper, though it had taken an extra week to finish, came out noticeably better than the last.
Of course, it still paled in comparison to the smooth, feather light sheets of modern paper Myne once knew. But by medieval standards, their product was practically revolutionary.
Where Yurgenschmidt still relied on parchment made from animal hide—thick, yellowing, and expensive—or porous wooden slates that absorbed ink too easily and wore down styluses, what Myne and Lutz had produced was a marvel. Their handmade paper was thinner and more pliable, soft to the touch yet firm enough not to crumble. The surface held ink well with minimal bleeding, and while the pages weren't perfectly even or crisp, each sheet had a rustic charm—slightly textured, delicately ridged, and infused with the faint scent of boiled pulp and forest wood.
The real surprise, however, came from the Trombe vines. What had initially been a terrifying magical threat now proved to be an unexpectedly useful resource. The paper made from the Trombe’s fibrous remains turned out whiter, finer, and smoother than any of the others. It took to ink with almost no spread at all and dried faster on the surface. The finish was soft and velvety—closer to linen than bark. It was far too tedious to ever be produced in bulk, but as a special, limited-edition product? It would make a luxurious and rare collectible item.
Neither Lutz nor Myne imagined anyone in their right mind would willingly hunt Trombes just to gather vines. But it was satisfying to know they’d found another use for the otherwise dangerous plant. The current samples made for an ideal working prototype, and Myne couldn’t wait to present them to Benno. Their growing stock of wares was expanding faster than anticipated, and with this new addition, their catalog would look much more impressive.
By the end of summer, they had a decent number of completed batches: paper made from pine, fir, spruce, birch, and of course, Trombe vine. Each wood type gave their product a unique color, texture, and weight. Pine produced a pale yellow paper with long, flexible fibers. Fir yielded a slightly coarser texture but was durable. Spruce had a pleasant softness, almost cotton-like when dried. Birch gave them their smoothest finish—until the Trombe outshined them all.
They juggled this alongside their soap production, barely finding time to rest—but neither of them complained.
…
Like the season before, Lutz and Myne’s summer drew to a close with a scheduled meeting at the Gilberta Company. They arrived with their samples tucked carefully in waxed paper bundles, ready to be judged, berated, or—if they were lucky—praised by Benno.
But something was different this time.
The moment they stepped into his office, Benno looked like he’d aged a decade over the summer. His sleeves were rolled, collar askew, and there were dark circles under his eyes. A stack of correspondence sat on the desk behind him, sealed in expensive wax—none of it addressed to mere commoners.
“About time you two showed up,” he muttered, though his voice held no real heat. “You wouldn’t believe the storm your soap stirred up.”
Lutz blinked. “The orders?”
Benno snorted. “The nobles.”
Apparently, the merchant had spent most of the summer fending off noblemen and women from the Noble’s Quarter, all vying for exclusive access to the now-coveted item. What began as a modest hygiene product had turned into a trend. An obsession, even.
“They started sending invitations,” Benno said, rubbing his temple. “Not for business meetings—tea parties. ‘Oh, Master Benno, please bring a sample for the ladies,’ they’d coo. Like I’m some glorified peddler.”
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with both weariness and amusement. “You have no idea how desperate they are to get a whiff of that floral rinse.”
“They’re using it as currency,” Myne said knowingly. “Trends are like that in high society.”
Benno raised a brow. “Oh? And how would a pipsqueak like you know that?”
She merely smiled.
Benno shook his head, muttering about strange kids with stranger brains, while Lutz—ever the practical one—perked up with a more grounded concern.
“If the nobles like it that much,” he said, “does that mean we can charge them more?”
Benno grinned. “Now that’s the right way to think.”
They went over their earnings next. Lutz took out a crumpled ledger he’d practiced with in his free time, and together, they calculated what they were expecting:
“One large gold coin, nine small gold coins, and five large silvers,” Lutz recited, “minus production and loan…”
Benno waved his hand. “Don’t bother with the loan anymore. That’s paid off. Equipment, workhouse—all done.”
Myne and Lutz exchanged a glance, stunned into silence.
Benno chuckled. “Look forward to Fall. From now on, every coin goes straight into your pockets—or your projects. If you’ve got more schemes like this, keep ’em coming.”
With the mood lifted, they proudly unwrapped their paper prototypes. Five kinds of handmade sheets, neatly stacked: pine, fir, spruce, birch, and the rare trombe.
Benno stared at them.
Then he stared some more.
And for a terrifying second, Myne thought he’d stopped breathing.
“You—five? FIVE? You made five different prototypes?! And you still kept the soap business running?!”
Myne tilted her head. “Well, we had help… and a system.”
“We outsourced help by hiring our relatives,” Lutz offered. “And we made them do the grunt work.”
Benno slumped back into his chair like he’d just been punched in the stomach.
“You little monsters.”
He eventually composed himself, swept the papers into a protective binder, and stood.
“Right. Enough delays. I’m locking this down before someone else gets their claws on you.”
“But we’re still dirty,” Myne said, looking down at her mud-stained hem.
Benno barked a laugh. “I’m not dragging you to the guild looking like beggars.”
He stepped out briefly and returned with two simple but well-tailored sets of work clothes. Myne was handed an olive-colored dress, modest but sleek, while Lutz received a sturdy green tunic and slacks. There was even a set of soft leather shoes for each of them, replacing the wooden clogs they’d worn through the summer.
“Go change. You’re presenting yourselves as merchants now. You represent me. And I want those nobles to see you shine like polished coins.”
They hurried to the washroom to change. And when they stepped out, freshly scrubbed– with their own soap, no less— and dressed, Benno gave a short nod of approval, then clapped each of them on the shoulder.
“Let’s go make it official.”
Together, the three made their way to the Merchant’s Guild.
…
The sun had just started to dip when the three of them arrived at the Merchant’s Guild in the western quarter. The building stood proud and imposing, its broad stone façade etched with symbols of prosperity—wheat stalks, weighed scales, and a large golden coin set into the arch above its grand doors.
To the average citizen, it was merely the administrative heart of commerce in Ehrenfest. But for aspiring merchants like Myne and Lutz, it was the gate to legitimacy.
As they walked past the threshold, Myne took a moment to glance around, taking in the polished stone floors, high vaulted ceilings, and rows of bustling clerks behind counters. A strong scent of ink and old paper lingered in the air.
It feels like the post office back in Tenebrae, she mused. Orderly, formal, a bit too rustic for the modern world ruled by computers—but efficient.
Benno, without wasting a second, approached one of the reception counters. “I’m here to register two apprentices under my name,” he declared. “Myne and Lutz. And I’d like Guild Cards issued.”
The clerk nodded, adjusting his monocle. “Please wait while we process your request.”
As the paperwork was being prepared, Lutz nudged Myne and gestured toward a large framed map hanging on one of the side walls.
The two of them quietly approached it.
Drawn with immaculate precision and inked in striking hues, the map depicted the continent of Yurgenschmidt. At the center lay the Sovereignty—an emblem of the royal family’s power—surrounded by a ring of duchies arranged like petals around a flower’s heart.
“There’s Ehrenfest,” Lutz murmured, pointing to one of the outer duchies.
“It’s so small compared to the rest,” Myne replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize our duchy was only a fragment of something much larger…”
“Think we’ll ever get to see the other places?” Lutz asked, his voice filled with wonder.
Myne stared silently for a moment, recalling how her life once demanded travel from one city to another, always as a tool of peace or for the Gods, but never truly hers. “I hope so,” she simply says, quiet and sincere.
Their moment was shattered by a sharp voice echoing from the reception area.
“What do you mean you can’t process it?” Benno barked, his tone tight with fury. “You’ve got the paperwork. You’ve got the names. Are you telling me the Merchant’s Guild is now turning away successful apprentices?”
“We’re sorry, Master Benno,” the clerk stammered. “There’s been a directive passed down—apprentice registrations tied to new goods must be reviewed by upper management…”
Benno’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Gustav.”
He turned to glare at the hallway leading deeper into the building. “That old fart planned this.”
With a clenched jaw, he snapped toward Myne and Lutz. “Come with me. Now.”
Confused but compliant, the two children followed him past the main reception and toward an unassuming stone wall. A circular rune, faintly glowing, had been etched into the surface like a magical crest carved into the stone.
Myne slowed her pace. Something about it tingled in her mind.
A barrier, she recognized, though said nothing aloud. A passive ward. To separate this space from casual visitors.
The receptionist paled when Benno approached it. “M-Master Benno, the Guildmaster’s office—”
“—has been expecting me, no doubt,” Benno interrupted with a knowing sneer. “Don’t waste our time.”
Within moments, an escort was summoned, and the runic barrier shimmered faintly as they were granted passage. Myne felt the subtle hum of mana in the air—tingling against her skin—as they crossed into the restricted section. She said nothing, but her eyes lingered on the fading light of the circle carved into the wall.
The staircase spiraled upward like a tightly coiled spring, every step bringing with it a growing pressure in the air. By the time they reached the top, even the walls felt heavier—thick with the presence of old money, older rules, and expectations chiseled in stone.
At the summit loomed a pair of tall double doors—dark oak veined with gold filigree, polished to a mirror shine. They looked as though they belonged more to a palace than an office.
Benno didn’t hesitate.
He threw the doors open with both hands, letting them slam into the walls with a reverberating boom that shook dust from the rafters.
“You senile geezer! What kind of joke are you playing at?” he barked, stomping into the office with the force of a thunderclap.
Startled, Myne skidded to a halt behind him, instinctively clutching the sleeve of Lutz’s tunic. She’d never seen Benno like this—he wasn’t just angry; he was furious. Not the sharp, cold fury of a merchant losing a deal. This was personal. Familiar. Old.
Gustav, the Guild master, didn’t so much as flinch. He looked up slowly from the scrolls spread across his desk, his expression as calm and dry as parchment.
“And a good day to you too, Benno,” he said mildly, folding his aged hands atop the desk. “I trust the air in the Lower District hasn’t rotted your manners.”
“Don’t play dumb,” Benno growled. “Why did you reject their application?”
Gustav lifted one brow. “It’s very simple. They’re unbaptized. Guild regulations clearly state that apprentices must be baptized before they can be registered.”
Benno didn’t sit. He loomed instead—arms crossed, temper simmering beneath every syllable. “Since when do you care about regulations? You’ve bent more rules than a novice scribe’s quill.”
“That may be,” Gustav replied, entirely unbothered, “but I don’t recall you ever dragging unbaptized brats into my office before.”
Myne’s lips parted, but she said nothing. Lutz’s eyes flicked between the two older men like he was watching a duel he hadn’t trained for.
Benno jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “These two are more valuable than half the guild put together. Myne’s already innovated two new industries. You reject them now, and they’ll be plucked clean by peddlers and bottom-feeders within a week.”
“I’m not running a charity,” Gustav said. “And I certainly don’t take in wild talent just because you’re sentimental.”
That word—sentimental—hung heavy in the air. Myne picked up on the shift instantly.
Then, unexpectedly, Gustav’s gaze flicked to her. More specifically, to the comb nestled in her hair.
He leaned forward slightly, tone abruptly sharper. “Where did you get that?”
Myne blinked, hand rising to touch the accessory reflexively. “I made it,” she said cautiously. “Why?”
Gustav’s face didn’t change, but his posture did. He sat straighter. Leaned closer. His eyes fixed on the comb with unsettling intensity.
“My granddaughter’s baptism is this winter,” he said. “She’s been asking for that exact design since summer. Saw it in another girl’s hair and hasn’t stopped talking about it since.”
Benno seized the moment with merciless precision.
“That,” he said with a wolfish grin, “is part of their product line.”
Gustav looked up sharply.
“But as you’ve so graciously pointed out,” Benno continued, “they can’t sell a thing. Not unless they’re officially part of the guild. No membership, no merchandise. A shame, really.”
Silence. Long, brittle silence.
Myne watched as Gustav’s face began to tighten—slightly at first. His fingers curled. A bead of sweat formed at his temple.
Benno was right. Gustav had just realized the trap he’d walked into.
“Well,” Benno said at last, turning on his heel with theatrical flair, “this was clearly a waste of time. Lutz, Myne—let’s go.”
They had barely taken three steps toward the door when Gustav’s voice snapped behind them like a whip.
“Wait!”
The old man had risen from his seat, jaw clenched.
“I will reconsider… if you agree to make a comb for my granddaughter.”
Benno turned slowly, all smug satisfaction. “Oh? Then let’s talk price.”
Gustav hesitated, then raised two fingers.
Myne tilted her head. “What does that mean?”
“Two small silvers?” Lutz guessed.
Benno scoffed. “That’s your opening offer?” He lifted five fingers. “Five.”
Gustav’s eyes narrowed.
“Three.”
Benno leaned against the desk with all the casual arrogance of a man who had already won. “Four large silvers,” he said, lowering his hand. “Not a copper less.”
Gustav exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re raising the value just by opening your mouth.”
“I’m quoting reality,” Benno replied. “You just admitted you’ve had people searching all over the city. And this comb?” He gestured to Myne. “This is her prototype. You’re not buying just a trinket—you’re buying what your granddaughter wants. That kind of leverage doesn’t come cheap.”
Gustav hesitated. Then, with a slow nod, he relented. “Fine. Four large silvers, but you better make sure it’s as good, if not, better than the little miss’s comb..”
“Pleasure doing business,” Benno said, eyes glinting.
But Gustav wasn’t done. He immediately began rattling off a list of design elements—color palettes, comb length, engraved flourishes.
Myne raised a hand gently. “If I may… I think it would be better to ask your granddaughter directly.”
Gustav stopped mid-sentence.
“Something that personal?” Myne continued. “It should match her taste. Girls don’t always like surprise gifts. Especially not ones they have to wear.”
A long pause.
Then Gustav leaned back in his chair and let out a low chuckle.
“You’re wiser than your age suggests,” he muttered. “Very well. I’ll arrange a meeting between you two.”
Benno gave Myne a sideways glance, one brow raised. “Remind me to hire you the next time I negotiate with this old goat.”
She smiled, demure as ever. “Happy to assist.”
In the end, the trio walked out with a pair of freshly issued guild cards for Myne and Lutz.
Apparently, Benno had been pushing for this for a while. Now that they were officially registered, the cards would allow them to manage their own earnings. Enchanted for practical use, the guild cards worked like a combination of a credit card and a bank book, eliminating the need to carry physical currency as they can easily exchange coins by simply touching their card to another.
Without fanfare, Benno deposited their individual earnings onto their respective cards. “Don’t be stupid.” he said simply, before tucking his own card away. With business settled, the three of them left the guild hall.
…
Three days later, Myne and Lutz stood near the edge of the town square, just beside the large fountain where children splashed their feet and mothers chatted while keeping a loose eye on their little ones.
As agreed, they were waiting to meet Guild Master Gustav’s granddaughter—Freida.
When the tenth bell echoed across the plaza, a small girl with soft pink pigtails and an air of quiet confidence approached them. Her smile was bright and practiced, her steps light but deliberate.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you both,” she greeted. “You must be Lutz and Myne.”
Lutz blinked. “Uh… how did you know?”
Freida tilted her head, as if amused. “You stand out,” she said simply. “Your hair is clean and smells like herbs, your skin isn’t smudged with soot, and the comb in Myne’s hair? It’s the same design as the one I saw on the girl during the summer baptism. Handmade, unique, and elegant.”
Lutz shot Myne a look, and she gave a tiny shrug in return. Benno had warned them. “She’s sharp, just like her grandfather,” he had said.
Without missing a beat, Freida turned on her heel. “This way, please. I’ll show you to our home.”
She led them through the northern district, where the houses grew larger, cleaner, and more elaborately adorned. The people they passed wore finer clothing, and even the cobblestones seemed more polished.
“That’s Othmar’s Grocery,” Freida pointed out lightly as they passed a storefront. “We own it.”
Myne stiffened slightly but kept her expression smooth. We buy our rio oil from there, she thought. She and Lutz exchanged another silent glance but said nothing aloud.
As they walked, Myne studied Freida. She was petite, even smaller than Myne, which surprised her. Aren’t they supposed to be the same age? But compared to her sickly state in autumn, Myne had finally begun to grow. Her self-purification, better food, and daily baths seemed to be making a visible difference.
Freida, meanwhile, was clearly raised with wealth. Her pink dress had lace trim, and her ribbons were silk. She smelled faintly of something floral, and there wasn’t a wrinkle on her.
Eventually, they arrived at a tall building with a tidy garden in front—something rare in Ehrenfest, where most buildings were cramped and stacked upward to save space.
Inside, the house was filled with elegant furniture and warm scents of baked goods and spices. The walls were decorated with embroidered tapestries, and polished glass vases held preserved flowers in delicate arrangements.
Guild Master Gustav must really be loaded, Myne thought, glancing around.
A servant guided them into a well-furnished drawing room where tea and cookies were already set on the table.
Freida gestured for them to sit. “Let’s begin, shall we? I’ve been looking forward to this.”
Myne smiled politely. “About the comb… I was thinking a standard design might not suit your usual hairstyle. You prefer pigtails, don’t you?”
Freida nodded, intrigued. “Yes. I always wear them like this.”
“Then rather than a comb, I’d like to design something custom for you—a pair of hair ties that still use braiding, but larger and more decorative. They’ll match your style better while still feeling elegant.”
Freida brightened. “I like the sound of that. In that case, would it help if I show you my baptism dress? It might give you an idea of what to match.”
“That would be helpful, thank you,” said Myne.
Freida rang a small bell, and a servant promptly brought over a folded dress made from fine white and red-stitched fabric. Myne examined the lace and embroidery carefully.
“I can use this for reference. If you don’t mind, I’ll need to see the thread you used. It’ll help me choose accents that go well with the piping.”
“I still have some thread left from the embroidery,” Freida said. “Would you like to use it? I can add it to the payment.”
Myne gently shook her head. “You’ve already paid enough for two ornaments. I don’t need more coin. But I’ll accept the thread—it’ll help me match the look better.”
Freida raised a brow and recited confidently, “When the opportunity comes, one must earn as much as they can, in any way they can. That’s what my grandfather always says.”
“I’m sure he does,” said Myne with a laugh, “but I’d still rather keep the price fair.”
Lutz, who had been quiet so far, leaned forward. “If it helps, we can just consider it two smaller ornaments instead of one large one. We’ll sell them as a pair, but since they’re smaller than Myne’s usual design, the second can be offered at half the price. That way, the craftsmanship is still paid for, and it’s fair for both sides.”
Freida considered it, then gave a slow, satisfied nod. “A clever compromise. I accept.”
The three exchanged smiles, and the atmosphere relaxed as they reached an agreement without fuss or posturing.
Freida led them through a refined sitting room, where a servant soon appeared carrying a silver tray of snacks and drinks. The glasses were filled with a sparkling red juice.
“It’s Fallold juice,” Freida said with a smile, taking her own glass. “It’s best this time of year—just the right balance of sweet and tart.”
Myne took a sip and her eyes lit up. “Oh, this is delicious.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Freida added proudly. “Grandfather has secured a good supply from the province south of Ehrenfest. They had the best Fallolds within the duchy!”
“Mm,” Myne hummed in agreement as she savored another sip. “The honey really brings out the flavor.”
Lutz nodded as he drank his share. “It’s good. Better than what I expected.”
Once they had settled in, Freida set her glass down and turned to Myne with a cheerful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Myne, I have to say—I’m impressed. A girl with her own line of products, carefully managing production and sales, and even working through a merchant intermediary? That’s no small feat.”
“Ahaha,” Myne laughed, unsure whether to be flattered or suspicious.
“You know,” Freida began lightly, “you could always consider working with us instead. Our family has connections, reach, and the experience to sell your soap in places Benno could only dream of. Our name opens doors.”
There was a beat of silence.
Myne blinked, caught off guard. She had expected some kind of compliment or follow-up question—just not a business proposition in the middle of a tea break.
“Oh? Trying to poach me already?” she teased, raising a brow in amusement. “I didn’t think we were negotiating again so soon.”
Freida gave her most charming smile. “I just think you’d thrive in a place that understands your value from the start. Grandpa would take excellent care of you.”
Before Myne could respond, Lutz leaned forward with a flat stare.
“No thanks,” he said firmly. “Benno already warned us something like this might happen. And Myne’s not going anywhere.”
Freida’s eyes narrowed, but her tone remained light. “How very loyal of you. But are you sure you’re not holding her back?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” Lutz shot back.
As the two started to bicker, Myne leaned back, cradling her glass with both hands and watching them with a soft smile.
This wasn’t a hostile move—not really. Myne could see that, even if Lutz couldn’t. There was something almost clumsy about the way Freida had launched into her proposal—like someone mimicking the tactics of adults without truly meaning harm. It reminded her of someone from long ago.
The memories of Luna stirred gently within her. This wasn’t a calculated attempt to steal business. It was Freida’s version of reaching out. Of offering a hand of friendship—albeit in the only way she knew how.
“Thank you, Freida,” Myne said warmly, cutting through the tension. “I’ll have to decline the offer to join Othmar’s for now, but I wouldn’t mind visiting from time to time. If you’re open to that.”
Freida blinked, visibly surprised by the shift in tone, but then she gave a small nod. “Of course. That would be… acceptable.”
Satisfied, Myne returned to her drink, and for a brief moment, everything was calm again.
It would seem that Myne has made another friend.