Jasper moved through the city in his new carriage, the wooden wheels clattering against the cobblestone streets as he headed toward City Hall. The sunlight filtered through the tiny gaps in the canvas cover, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. An uneasy sensation gnawed at the pit of his stomach—something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
The marketplace buzzed with unusual activity. Merchants haggled with unprecedented vigor, their voices rising above the typical market chatter. Silk-clad noble agents, normally rare sights, weaved through the crowds with practiced nonchalance, their eyes constantly scanning the stalls. However, Jasper pushed these observations aside—his heart was too full with the prospect of finally creating his own guild and starting his business independently.
"No more begging for acceptance," he whispered to himself, his lips forming a smile beneath his hood. "No need to work under someone else's guild. I'll be my own master."
As he moved through the streets, pedestrians parted before him like water around a stone. Some stared openly at his fully covered form, their eyes narrowing with suspicion or widening with morbid curiosity. A mother pulled her child closer as he passed, whispering something that made the little one's eyes grow round. Jasper's shoulders stiffened, but he continued forward. Their stares were nothing new—just another day in a life defined by others' perceptions.
The carriage jolted to a stop. The City Hall loomed from afar, though it was before him, he was just nervous. Jasper took a deep breath, feeling the rough fabric of his hood brush against his damaged skin, and stepped forward.
Inside, the hall echoed with footsteps and hushed conversations. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, highlighting the polished floor that reflected his cloaked figure like dark water. The air smelled of parchment and expensive ink. Jasper approached the registration office, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
The city manager, a portly man with a meticulously trimmed beard and rings adorning every finger, eyed Jasper with obvious distaste. His quill scratched against parchment as he detailed the payment tiers.
"The minimum payment gets you the license only," the manager explained, his voice clipped and professional. "Find your own building, handle your own affairs. The highest tier"—he paused, looking pointedly at Jasper's modest attire—"provides a building in the merchant quarter and certain... considerations from the authorities."
Jasper remembered his father's note, pages full of wisdom: "Never depend on those who can revoke their favor on a whim. What they give with one hand, they take with the other." The memory strengthened his resolve.
"I'll take the basic license," Jasper declared, placing a precisely counted stack of coins on the desk. "I'll find my own building."
The manager's eyebrows rose, disappearing beneath his hair. "As you wish." He pushed the papers forward, then hesitated, his eyes fixed on Jasper's hooded face. "But first—can you take off your hood? I need to see your face." His tone shifted from professional to demanding. "I don't think that's too much to ask, is it?"
Jasper's fingers tightened around the edge of his hood. "No, sir," he replied, his voice barely audible. "It's just... my face is ruined, and I fear it might make you uncomfortable." The familiar knot of shame formed in his throat.
The manager waved a dismissive hand. "It's fine. I've seen all kinds of faces in my time." His eyes flicked to the guards standing at attention by the door. "I need to verify your identity before approving your request."
Reluctantly, Jasper pulled back his hood, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. The cool air of the hall brushed against his exposed skin—a rare sensation. He could feel the weight of the manager's stare, the sudden stillness of the room pressing down like a physical force. The silence stretched, becoming a living thing between them.
The manager coughed, a wet, uncomfortable sound. "Ahem... Yes, perhaps you should keep your face covered." His voice had lost its commanding edge, replaced by something close to unease. "I doubt I'll sleep well tonight otherwise."
Jasper couldn't tell if the man was mocking, joking, or serious—his tone suggested the latter—but he simply nodded and pulled his hood back up, grateful for its familiar weight and the protection it offered from prying eyes. To his surprise, the manager processed the paperwork with unusual speed, his questions perfunctory, his manner distracted, as if eager to conclude their business.
With the guild deed in hand—the parchment still warm from the freshly pressed seal—Jasper stepped back into the sunlight. His heart hammered against his ribs. The document represented more than just permission to trade; it was his first step toward carving out a place where he could exist without judgment. Now, all that remained was finding a suitable location.
Sadly, the city seemed determined to thwart him. Building after building proved unsuitable—either commanding exorbitant prices for prime locations or offering dismal structures in forgotten corners of the city. By late afternoon, Jasper's reserve of patience drained, and frustration settled around his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the streets as he made his way back to the inn. His muscles Throbbed with each step, and the weight of disappointment made his shoulders slump. He climbed the creaking stairs to his room, the familiar smell of cheap tallow candles and old wood greeting him.
The sound of his footsteps echoed in the corridor. Step! Step! Step!
He pushed open the door, surprised to find it unlocked. The hinges creaked softly.
"Hmm? What are you all doing here?" Jasper asked, taking in the sight of his three companions gathered around the small table in his room.
Ivar, tall and broad-shouldered with a face that looked perpetually ready to smile, jumped to his feet. "We were waiting for you, Master," he answered, his deep voice warm with affection.
"Did you finish the tasks I gave you?"
"Of course!" Ivar's chest puffed with pride. "Though some people looked down on Mina and me," he admitted, his voice dropping slightly as he glanced at the woman sitting quietly by the window. "Lysandra handled them brilliantly. If I may say so, she carried herself like a true master while we were shopping."
Lysandra, elegant even in simple clothing, inclined her head modestly, but the quirk of her lips betrayed her pleasure at the compliment.
"That's good to hear," Jasper nodded. "As for me..." he paused, savoring the moment, "I secured the deed."
The reaction was instantaneous. All three leapt up with excitement, their faces transformed by genuine joy. Ivar whooped, his callused hands clapping together. Mina's usually reserved expression blossomed into a radiant smile, and Lysandra clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling.
"Calm down, calm down," Jasper said, waving his hands, though warmth bloomed in his chest at their reaction. "We still need to find a place for the guild. Anyway, how much did you spend on the herbs?"
Lysandra straightened, slipping effortlessly into her role as business manager. "Twelve thousand silver's worth," she reported, her tone precise. "It's a significant amount, but still modest for a merchant guild." She hesitated, a flash of uncertainty crossing her features. "I didn't want to spend more without your approval—after all, it's your money."
Jasper's voice softened. "When I gave you the funds, I trusted you completely. Even if you'd spent it all, I wouldn't have minded. After all, none of us could help in crafting the drugs. "He crossed the room to the window, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the city's skyline. "Still, it's wise not to exhaust our resources in one go. We'll assess our business's progress before purchasing more."
He turned back to the room, his gaze settling on Mina and Ivar. Mina sat with perfect posture, her delicate hands folded in her lap, but her eyes—always expressive—darted occasionally to Ivar, who couldn't seem to stop fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "If you two are ready," Jasper said gently, "just say the word, and I'll witness your marriage."
A deep blush spread across Mina's cheeks, and Ivar's ears turned scarlet. Even Lysandra who's normally composed, felt heat rising to her face for reasons she couldn't quite articulate.
After a moment of charged silence, Ivar took a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling. "I think we're ready, Master." His voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he glanced at Mina, who nodded, her eyes bright with unspoken emotion.
"Then tomorrow is your day, my friends." Jasper's voice carried a weight of sincerity that made the simple words feel like a blessing. "Now, let's eat and rest."
Morning brought with it the smell of fresh bread and the promise of new beginnings. Jasper and his companions left the inn, their spirits high despite the early hour. The streets, normally busy with merchants setting up their stalls, seemed unusually tense. Before they could reach City Hall for Ivar and Mina's wedding, the clatter of armored boots against cobblestone drew their attention.
City guards marched through the streets, their polished breastplates catching the morning light. They moved with purpose, posting edicts on walls and ensuring crowds gathered to listen.
One guard, his voice trained to carry across battlefields, bellowed: "Hear ye, people of Zoliland! His Majesty, King Alistar von Aster, has met with the fellow monarchs of our continent to enact unified laws."
The crowd fell silent, shopkeepers abandoning their half-assembled stalls, laborers pausing with loads half-lifted.
"Henceforth, gold coins shall be recognized as noble currency. Their value will increase from ten silver per gold to one hundred silver per gold. All who possess gold must treat it with respect and keep it polished. Also bla bla bla…"
The silence held for one heartbeat, two—then shattered.
Chaos erupted like a sudden summer storm. Some cheered, their faces alight with the realization of newfound wealth. Others stood frozen, the blood draining from their faces as they calculated losses. Within moments, the sad crowd split: those cursing themselves for not hoarding gold, and those whose silver-based wealth had effectively been slashed to a hundredth of its former value.
Arguments broke out like wildfire. A woman screamed at her husband for spending gold on a new plow last week. Others crumpled to their knees, hands clutching their ledger. Children, sensing the tension but not understanding its cause, began to cry.
Jasper and his companions stood rooted to the spot, the celebrations from earlier evaporating like morning dew under a harsh sun. Their savings—11,420 silver, now equivalent to a mere 114 gold—felt like a mockery of their hard work. Each silver coin, once a step toward freedom, now represented a fraction of what they had believed.
Ivar's face reflected the devastation they all felt. His broad shoulders sagged, his hands hanging limp at his sides. The wedding day he had anticipated since Jasper's promise now seemed tainted by the king's decree.
Lysandra's reaction was immediate and visceral. She began hitting her forehead with the heel of her palm, her eyes wide with self-recrimination. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, Master!" Her voice cracked with emotion. "I should have spent everything yesterday—now its value has plummeted. The market prices will skyrocket, and we won't be able to buy the same amount of herbs with what we have left." Each word was punctuated by another strike against her forehead.
Jasper felt a surge of anger so intense it made his vision blur at the edges. The nobility's casual disregard for common livelihoods, the calculated timing of the announcement—it reeked of conspiracy. But he forced himself to inhale deeply, to center his thoughts. Anger would not solve their problem.
"Sigh..." The sound escaped his lips as he reached out, gently but firmly grasping Lysandra's wrist to stop her self-punishment. "Don't blame yourself, Lysandra. This is a scheme by the nobles and kings—we couldn't have done anything." His voice was steady, a counterpoint to the chaos around them. "Yes, prices will rise, but we don't know by how much. If anything, we were lucky we spent silver instead of gold yesterday. And despite the loss, we're still on the winning side."
Mina, who had been silent until now, her face a mask of quiet distress, finally spoke. "Master, why did you spend silver instead of gold? Isn't silver the merchants' preferred currency?" Her voice was soft, almost lost in the commotion of the street.
"It was heavier," Jasper explained, his pragmatic answer cutting through the emotional tension. "There's a big difference between carrying a hundred thousand silver and ten thousand gold. I wanted to lighten the load." A wry chuckle escaped him. "Imagine if I hadn't had a carriage yesterday—I wouldn't have been able to transport all that silver. Honestly, we got lucky. If our business had been with commoners, I'd have spent gold instead, for silver is better suited with them."
Ivar, who had been studying Jasper's hidden face with concern, ventured hesitantly, "So... you're not angry?" His voice held a note of disbelief, as if he expected Jasper to explode at any moment.
"Just frustrated, that's all," Jasper admitted, his fingers absently tracing the edge of his hood. "Why? Did you think I'd ruin your wedding over this?"
"A little," Ivar confessed, turning away, the back of his neck reddening. "I was scared for a moment."
Lysandra, recovering from her earlier distress, seized the opportunity to lighten the mood. "Hee hee!" Her laugh was forced but determined. "Look how much Ivar wants to marry Mina!" Her teasing, intended for Ivar, instead made Mina blush furiously, the color spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.
Jasper couldn't help but chuckle at their reactions. "Relax, Ivar. You're all important to me. My love for you is genuine, nothing I feel will ever ruin your happiness."
The three looked at him with such raw emotion that they nearly embraced him right there in the street. They held back, mindful of public observation, but their expressions—Ivar's grateful smile, Mina's glistening eyes, Lysandra's softened features—spoke volumes.
"We love you too, Master," Lysandra said, her voice unusually gentle. "You're our family as well."
Jasper cleared his throat, grateful for the concealment his hood provided as embarrassment heated his ravaged face. "Ahem," he managed, adjusting his cloak. "Let's keep moving. The streets are chaotic, and we don't need to run into some bigoted lunatic."
City Hall, so imposing yesterday, felt actively hostile today. The guards at the entrance eyed them with suspicion, and the air inside was thick with tension. They approached the notary's desk, where a thin man with ink-stained fingers looked up at them with immediate disdain.
...
"Let me get this straight," the notary said, his voice dripping with contempt. He gestured at Ivar and Mina with his quill, spattering tiny droplets of ink across his ledger. "You want to register slaves as married?"
Jasper stood straighter, keeping his voice level. "Yes. They're under my ownership, and I wish to formalize their union."
The notary's laugh was sharp and ugly, echoing off the walls. "Pfft! You hear this, folks?" He turned to his colleagues, who paused their work to listen. "Ha! These lowborns think they can play house." He looked back at Jasper, his smile vanishing. "Get lost, kids—we don't waste parchment on filth like you."
'The parchments you are using are probably made by me, you F!' Jasper thought
Jasper's fists clenched inside his sleeves. "But other slaves have been registered before. What's the issue?" His voice remained calm, though tension threaded through each word.
The notary's face hardened. "I don't have time for this. Get yourselves out of here before I forcefully kick you out." He looked down at his parchments, dismissing them entirely.
They had no choice but to leave, their steps heavy with defeat. Outside, Ivar could no longer contain his rage. He stomped his foot against the ground, the impact sending a sharp pain up his leg that he welcomed. "That bastard!" he spat, his voice a low growl. "Would it kill him to just do his job and keep his mouth shut?!"
Lysandra and Mina stood in silent fury, their eyes conveying what words could not. Jasper placed a hand on Ivar's shoulder, squeezing gently.
"We're used to this," he said quietly, the resignation in his voice somehow more painful than anger. "But mark my words—one day, they'll regret it. When the tables turn, they'll be the ones begging." His voice dropped lower, a promise meant for the four of them alone. "Let them laugh now. We'll see who laughs last."
The marketplace, usually a place of orderly commerce, had transformed into a scene of barely contained panic. Butchers argued with customers over prices, craftsmen huddled in groups, calculating losses on scraps of parchment. Greengrocers looked at their wares with new eyes, mentally adjusting values. Strangely, the established merchants maintained their composure, neither raising prices nor joining the general outcry—a detail that didn't escape Jasper's notice.
"They knew," he thought, watching a silk merchant calmly reassure a customer. "They were warned." But he kept these suspicions to himself, focusing instead on salvaging what remained of Ivar and Mina's special day.
At an artisan's stall, relatively untouched by the surrounding chaos, Jasper pointed to a pair of simple silver rings displayed on a velvet cloth. "How much?" he asked, his voice neutral.
The artisan, an older woman with silver streaks in her dark hair, appraised him openly. "30 bronze or 3 silver," she replied, her voice firm. "No haggling."
"Here," Jasper said, placing the coins in her weathered palm.
She examined them briefly before nodding. "A fine purchase, sir." She handed the rings to Jasper.
He turned and presented the rings to Ivar and Mina, whose expressions shifted from surprise to a deep, wordless gratitude. Even in this moment of joy, Jasper couldn't help but note the irony: these two, who had been abandoned by those who should have cherished them most, now stood on the threshold of creating their own family. What memories did they have of their blood relatives? Did Ivar remember his family? Did Mina recall her childhood home? Or had these memories been erased by the trauma of betrayal? In reality, as was common for slaves, they were orphans from a young age. Their parents, if they survived, probably endured even greater hardship. So, blame was a futile concept for both parent and child.
After purchasing food to enjoy the ceremony, they went out of the city to celebrate in their own way, leaving the city behind in chaos. There, under the open sky, Jasper performed a simple ceremony. No official would recognize it, no registry would record it, but as Ivar and Mina exchanged rings and promises, with Jasper and Lysandra as witnesses, the connection between them was as real and binding as any sanctioned union.
As he watched them, Jasper felt a bittersweet ache in his chest. He had given them what he himself desired most: a simple, peaceful life—honest work, genuine love, and the hope of growing old together. But for him, such dreams remained beyond reach. One glimpse of his face would shatter everything he had built. The world would never see beyond his ruined features. Even Ivar, Mina, and Lysandra, who cared for him deeply, couldn't fully hide their discomfort when they saw his true appearance.
As the afternoon sun bathed the green land outside the city in golden light, casting long shadows across the uneven ground, Jasper prepared all the food for celebration, then he raised his hand. "To new beginnings," he said, his voice steady with resolve. "And to family—not the one we're born into, but the one we choose."
The others raised their hands in response, their faces alight with hope despite the day's setbacks. In that moment, surrounded by those who had chosen him as surely as he had chosen them, Jasper felt something rare and precious: belonging. "For us and for all those who wronged us, today we celebrate! Tomorrow we obliterate!"