Chapter 10 Ears, Beers, and a Stone of Chaos

  I did a much better job gathering the ears this time. Instead of fumbling around like I was carving a pumpkin, I made clean, quick slices with each ear. When the last one was cut, I dropped it into the sack—ten in total, two much larger than the others.

  So, let’s recap: we just took down five gnolls. I actually killed one—with an axe. Then their leader put a damn metal dart in my shoulder. This… this was my life now.

  I chuckled at the absurdity of it all. Bromm glanced at me. “You finished then? We’d best be getting back to the village.”

  As we walked along the creek, I couldn’t help but ask, “Hey Bromm, you and Bob work so well together. How long have you two been side by side adventuring?”

  Bromm thought for a moment. “Well, now… must be… fifty years.”

  “Fifty years!?” I said, louder than I meant to. “Fifty years of just adventuring? No wonder they made it look so easy.”

  Bromm let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. “Aye, lad. I don’t know how your world worked, but even a beardling could take down a gnoll. A pack leader might give 'em trouble, but aye, gnolls are what everyone who wants to adventure starts with. Usually low risk.”

  “Usually…” I muttered, dragging out the word, still processing the sheer weight of his experience.

  Bromm clapped me on the back, grinning. “Don’t get down on yourself, lad. Those swings struck true. And you’re still breathing—that’s a win in my book”

  He was right. I was still breathing. But as the adrenaline faded, the weight of everything started to settle in. The way Bromm spoke about it, even children could handle killing gnolls without much trouble. Meanwhile, I had barely scraped through my first fight. I was trying to keep a level head about all this, but reality was sinking in—one mistake out here didn’t mean a setback. It meant death.

  I forced myself to keep walking, shoving those thoughts aside for now. As we neared the road, Bob let out an angry snort, his ears flicking with irritation. The Tufftails were out in force, chittering and leaping between the branches above us. The little creatures were relentless, their beady eyes locked on us, waiting for something to drop—an apple, a scrap of food, anything they could snatch up.

  They were funny little things. Cute, even. But judging by the way Bob’s tail twitched with barely contained fury, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

  As we reached the Hollow, our first stop was Zibbin Fizzlegear’s shop. Just before we entered, Bromm grabbed two fresh posters from the job board.

  “We’ll be cashing in these bounties,” he said.

  Inside, I opened my pack and dumped all the gnoll ears onto the counter. Zibbin’s bushy eyebrows shot up as his floating quill and parchment began scribbling furiously. He picked up one of the larger ears, inspecting it far too intently for my comfort.

  "Not bad... not bad," he muttered, turning it over. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Much better job than that first butchered pair you brought in the other day!”

  I groaned. Bromm just chuckled.

  Zibbin snatched the bounty parchment from Bromm, shoved it into a folder that looked like it was made of leaves, then turned and pulled a small sack from the shelf behind him. With a quick motion, he counted out twenty gold pieces and slid them across the counter.

  Bromm grabbed the coins and immediately handed me ten.

  “Wow, thanks! Are you sure?” I asked, eyeing the stack of coins in my palm.

  “Aye,” Bromm said with a grin. “You deserve it. And, more importantly, you need it.”

  I wasn’t about to argue with that. I took the coins and secured them in my pack.

  “How’s about a drink?” Bromm asked.

  That sounded great, but what I really wanted—what my body practically ached for—was food. Elunara’s food. I was starving, but it wasn’t just hunger driving me. There was something about her cooking, something I couldn’t quite put into words.

  Sure, she had said she infused her meals with magic, but it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t about flavor alone—though the taste was incredible. It was deeper, something you felt as much as you tasted. Her food didn’t just satisfy hunger; it settled you, like a warmth that spread past your stomach and into your very being. It was comfort, not just in the way a good meal should be, but in a way that reached your spirit. Like being wrapped in the feeling of home, even in a world that wasn’t your own.

  When we got inside the Frog Leg, we quickly found a table. Elunara was at another table but had seen us come in and gave us a wave.

  A pitcher of cool water and two empty glasses were already waiting on the table, condensation glistening on the pitcher’s surface. Bromm poured us each a glass, and we drank gratefully, washing away the dust from our bounty-hunting excursion.

  As we waited for Elunara to come over, I remembered something Bromm had mentioned. “Hey Bromm, when you told me about Veldrin, you said something… Arcanum-something?”

  Bromm took a deep swig of his drink, exhaling through his nose like a bellows cooling steel. “The Umbral Arcanum,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Mages with more curiosity than caution. A rare lot—chosen not only for their power, but for their minds. The best, brightest, and most damnably stubborn spellcasters to ever walk this world.”

  I frowned. “Chosen for their minds?”

  Bromm nodded, tapping a thick finger on the table. “Most who wield magic do so ‘cause they were gifted it. The Arcanum were different. They weren’t just spell-flingers—they were scholars, theorists, experimenters. They studied magic in all its forms—tore it apart, rebuilt it, tested its limits. Where the rest of the world saw sorcery as a gift, they saw a field of study, a puzzle to be solved.”

  I shifted in my seat. “That… doesn’t sound too bad?”

  Bromm snorted. “Aye, and fire ain’t bad till ye stick yer hand in it.” He leaned forward. “Magic’s a force, lad. It shapes the world, the very bones of it. But when ye start pryin’ at its roots, askin’ questions no one else dares to— well, ye start finding answers no sane man should. Some of ‘em built wonders. Some uncovered things that were meant to stay buried. And some…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Some went too far.”

  I exhaled. “And Veldrin?”

  Bromm let out a dry chuckle. “Aye, and then some. Most men learn magic like a trade—ye take what’s given, use it, follow the rules. But Veldrin? He’s spent his life arguin’ with magic. He tests it, breaks it, forces it to explain itself. The kind of man who don’t just read a spell—he takes it apart to see how it ticks.”

  Bromm sat back, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t want that kind of mind in me, lad. But if anyone can make sense of yer mess? It’s him.”

  I stared down at my drink, swirling the liquid absently. The way Bromm spoke, the Umbral Arcanum weren’t just mages—they were men who refused to accept magic at face value. Scholars who pulled it apart, rebuilt it, tested its limits, all to understand what no one else could.

  And wasn’t that exactly what I needed?

  Magic had rules—at least, that's what Veldrin had said. Rules about who could wield it, who could touch it, who belonged in this world. My presence here, the fact that I'd somehow crossed over without explanation or invitation, meant something had broken those rules.

  If the Arcanum was dedicated to exploring magic—to understanding its quirks, studying its patterns, learning how it fit into everyday life—then maybe, just maybe…

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Veldrin really was the only one who could help me make sense of it all.

  Before I could dwell on it further, Elunara arrived at our table, setting down two tankards of that frothing goodness and a warm loaf of ferowen bread, its crust crackling as it met the air. She slid into the seat across from us, giving us both a knowing look.

  “So,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “How’d the bounty collecting go?”

  Bromm let out a hearty chuckle. “Oh, those gnolls won’t be an issue for some time. Took care of their pack leader—real nasty one, too.” He nodded toward me, grinning. “Arthur here got a dart in the shoulder and all he could think about was yer cookin’.”

  Elunara’s brows lifted in amusement. “Oh? Not the pain? Not the life-or-death battle? Just my food?”

  I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling very called out. “Well… priorities.”

  Bromm roared with laughter, thumping the table. “Aye, lad’s got his head on straight after all.”

  Elunara chuckled, shaking her head. “You two are hopeless. Eat up.”

  She tore off a piece of bread and slid it toward me. The scent of fresh herbs and warm grain filled the air, and just like before, that same deep warmth settled over me before I even took a bite.

  Elunara left to tend to a group of new patrons who had just walked in, and Bromm grabbed the last few slices of bread, muttering something about "keeping Bob from razin’ the whole damn place down." He headed for the door, leaving me alone at the table for the first time since we got back.

  I let out a slow breath, sinking into my seat. The flickering lanterns overhead cast a warm glow, the steady murmur of conversation blending into something almost comforting. I let myself relax.

  Then the chair across from me scraped against the floor.

  I looked up—Veldrin.

  “Hello, Arthur," he said, breathless, like he'd just sprinted here from the ends of the earth. "I have returned, and I..." He inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his chest. "...I am ready to—" He exhaled, collecting himself. "Assess you."

  I blinked. Assess me?

  Before I could even ask, Bromm stepped back inside, irritation clear on his face as he shot a glance over his shoulder. "Damn pig's gotten spoiled rotten," he muttered. Then he spotted Veldrin and let out a groan. "Oh, Hells. What now?"

  Veldrin waved him off. "Not now, dwarf." His sharp gaze locked onto me, his voice dropping low. "Outside. Now."

  I barely had time to react before he was already moving. I shot Bromm a quick glance, but the dwarf just sighed, muttering something under his breath as he got up to follow.

  The cool night air hit my skin as we stepped outside, the village streets dimly lit by lantern glow. Bob huffed at our approach, ears twitching as he lazily shifted his weight.

  Veldrin’s eyes flicked around, scanning the quiet road before turning to Bromm. “We need to go somewhere private.” His voice was firm, almost urgent. “You still live in the same place?”

  Bromm narrowed his eyes. “Aye… Why?”

  Veldrin inhaled sharply, lowering his voice. “Because if we do this here, we’ll have the whole damn village talking by morning. And that is not a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Bromm studied him for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. “fine” he grumbled. “Follow me.”

  We made our way up the gentle rise toward Bromm’s home. It wasn’t far from the Frog Leg, just a short walk up the hill, but the slight elevation made it feel more secluded. From here, I could still see the glow of lanterns flickering in the village below, but the sounds of conversation and clinking mugs faded into the night air. Up here, it was quieter.

  As we neared his house, I noticed a small shack off to the side, its door secured with a metal grate. Through the gaps, I could see barrels stacked high with apples, their deep red skins catching the glow of the moonlight. Bromm wasn’t taking any chances—Tufftails were persistent little thieves, and this was his way of keeping them at bay.

  Bromm pushed open his front door—a battered slab of wood that creaked on its hinges. The inside was as simple and sturdy as the dwarf himself—a single round room, practical and compact. A stone slab bed sat against one wall, worn smooth over years of use. A small firepit rested near the center, more for heating than cooking.

  A single cabinet locker stood off to the side, its heavy wood reinforced with thick metal bands.

  We gathered inside, forming a rough triangle in the dim light. Then, without a word, Veldrin reached into his robes and pulled something out.

  A stone.

  It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Black—but not just black. Shades of darkness swirled inside, shifting like smoke trapped beneath glass. It looked ethereal, almost unreal, as if the very air around it was bending, whispering. The longer I stared, the deeper it seemed—like I could fall into it if I wasn’t careful.

  Veldrin held it up between his fingers, the swirling void within reflecting in his wide, eager eyes.

  “This,” he murmured, voice thick with anticipation, “is an Aetherstone.” He turned it slightly, watching the shifting dark within. “It will reveal your magic affinity… if you have one.”

  He extended it toward me, his gaze intense. “Now—touch it. Hold firm. Don’t let go.”

  I did as he instructed, wrapping my fingers around the Aetherstone.

  The moment my skin met its surface, a deep warmth spread through my palm—not burning, but just a breath away from being too hot to hold. A tingling sensation snaked up my arm, like invisible threads weaving over one another beneath my skin. The warmth pulsed, but at the same time, something cold coiled within it, the contrast sending shivers through me.

  Then, in an instant, the sensation snapped back into the stone.

  I looked down. The inky blackness of the Aetherstone was gone.

  In its place was something impossible—a pure, featureless white, as if the stone had been bleached of all existence. Then, symbols—tiny, intricate glyphs—began crawling across its surface, shifting and forming in colors I couldn’t even name. They shimmered, impossibly small yet perfectly clear, running together in a kaleidoscope of movement. Deep purples, electric blues, greens so vivid they seemed alive—all bleeding into one another, darkness and light twisting and pulsing like a living thing.

  It looked almost like a slot machine in motion—colors spinning, shifting, never stopping. I expected it to slow, to settle on a final shade, to give some kind of answer.

  But it didn’t.

  It just kept going.

  A sharp, strangled sound tore from Veldrin’s throat.

  Before I could react, my hand jerked away from the stone as if I’d been burned.

  The moment I let go, the colors vanished.

  The stone darkened, its swirling void returning as if nothing had happened.

  Silence.

  Then—

  “No. No, no, no, no, no.”

  Veldrin’s hands flew into his hair, gripping at the strands like he was about to tear them out. He started pacing in the tiny space, muttering so fast under his breath that I couldn’t catch half of it.

  Bromm, watching him, exhaled. “Oh, here we go.”

  Veldrin spun back toward me, his fingers twitching in the air like he was about to strangle an invisible explanation out of the ether. “That’s not—! That doesn’t—! IT CAN’T DO THAT.”

  He gestured wildly at the stone, shaking it as if he could rattle sense into it. “You do not understand. The Aetherstone reveals affinity. Singular. One. A calling, a tether to magic that already exists within a person.” He jabbed a finger at my chest. “You? That was not singular. That was chaos.”

  He whirled toward Bromm. “Did you see that?! Colors. Plural. A LOT of them.”

  Bromm grunted, folding his arms. “Aye.”

  Veldrin threw his hands in the air. “Aye?! That’s all you have to say?!”

  Bromm scratched his beard. “Well, lad’s already weird. This just makes it official.”

  Veldrin let out a strangled groan. He grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me slightly. “Do you have any idea what this means?! Do you even grasp the magnitude of what just happened?!”

  I opened my mouth, but he cut me off immediately, his voice rising an octave. “NO, OF COURSE YOU DON’T! BECAUSE IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY GODS-DAMNED SENSE!”

  He released me and began pacing again, one hand clenching and unclenching. “There should be a school. A focus. Fire. Water. Earth. Shadow. Something.” He stopped, exhaling sharply through his nose. His eyes flicked to the Aetherstone, then back to me. “But that? That was… I don’t know what that was.”

  For a moment, he just stared at the stone, his fingers twitching at his sides. Then, finally, his hands dropped, and his voice, when he spoke again, was quieter. Almost reverent.

  “I don’t like not knowing things, Arthur.” His fingers tapped against his arms as if trying to piece together an explanation. “But whatever that was? I’ve never seen it before.”

  He inhaled sharply, straightening. His usual sharpness returned, tempered by something more serious. “I need to find out what this means. If you can wield magic, we have to understand what kind. If it even is magic.” He glanced at the stone again, then back to me. “It could just be this world rejecting you. Or it means… something else.”

  Veldrin took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do not speak to anyone about this, Arthur. Not yet. Until we know what we’re dealing with, this stays between us.” His expression darkened, his fingers tightening at his sides. “We need answers. Which means training.”

  His gaze locked onto mine, unblinking. “If we figure this out, we may not just learn what you can do—we might finally understand what brought you here… and why.”

  A heavy silence settled between us. The weight of his words lingered in the air, thick with implications I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

  Then Bromm cleared his throat. “Right, well. That’s enough ominous magic talk for one night.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder . “You’re looking half-dead on your feet, lad. Best get yourself back to the Frog Leg before you topple over.”

  I blinked. I was exhausted. The day had been a lot—fighting gnolls, getting stabbed, the whole “possibly wielding magic” thing. My body felt heavy, my mind even heavier. Sleep sounded like the best idea I’d heard all day.

  Veldrin exhaled sharply, his expression still serious. “Get rest. We start at first light.”

  Bromm snorted. “First light? You’ll be lucky if he makes it out of bed before mid-mornin’ after all this.”

  I let out a tired chuckle and shook my head. “I’ll be there.”

  Bromm walked me to the door, the cool night air hitting me as I stepped outside. Behind me, Veldrin was already muttering to himself, staring at the Aetherstone like it owed him an explanation.

  As I made my way back to the Frog Leg, my mind swirled with everything that had happened. The gnolls, the stone, the impossible shifting colors. I wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but one thing was certain.

  My life here was only getting stranger.

  I made my way upstairs to my room, exhaustion settling deep in my bones. Peeling off my shirt, I inspected my shoulder where the gnoll had stabbed me. The Glimmergill had done its job well, the wound was completely gone. No scar, no lingering pain. If I hadn’t experienced it firsthand, I wouldn’t have believed I’d been injured at all.

  The only light in the room came from the moon outside my window, casting soft silver over the wooden walls. I needed new clothes. A better weapon. But that was a tomorrow problem.

  Right now, I just needed to sleep.

  My head barely hit the pillow before I was out.