The road took on a new shape as they crossed into the district, giving way to patterned brick and subtle etchings that lined the edges of the walkways. Each tile was placed with care, something that should be expected with the grandiosity of the capital.
The Glassward District didn't declare its importance with height or grandeur, but with subtly kept appearances. Every street was purposeful, every building up to code. Wagons flowed like steady rivers, led by crisp-uniformed handlers and horses fitted with lightweight armor built for long-distance travel. Small, arched bridges spanned gently channeled waterways, where barges floated past with cargo stamped by department crests.
Willow slowed her pace. "This doesn't feel like a city at all. I thought Varenthal looked a lot bigger and busier from afar."
Bartholomew grinned. "You're not far off. Glassward is the outermost district of the capital, symbolizing the Department of Trades turf. Goods come in and out through here more than anywhere else in Varenthal."
A soft wind rolled through, carrying the scent of hardwood and parchment. The buildings here weren't towering, but they were proud and well-maintained.
Joren's eyes tracked a caravan that passed them. It was stacked full of crates that were lashed tightly under woven cloth. He caught sight of the cargo seal: a silver, five-pointed star enclosed in a triangle.
"What's that emblem?" he asked, pointing.
Bartholomew barely even looked. "Inter-District Permit. It means it's cleared to move between all regions of Varenthal without needing to stop for checks. Only major trade families or government-run caravans get those."
Late Afternoon – Glassward Shops
They walked along a street that gently sloped downward, following the subtle bend of a water channel built into the roadside. The district of Glassward was living up to its name of trade central. Dozens of building they passed harbored plenty of interesting goods and services, which took a lot for the group to not get distracted by.
Though, that idea didn't really last all that long.
"I'm just going to peek inside that spice place," Willow said, already drifting toward a building with powdered reds and deep greens stacked in containers behind a window.
"Why don't we split into two and do a little exploring? This town seems well maintained so I doubt we would be seeing any roque Auspex or beasts around here." Joren said, taken on his leadership position bit by bit.
Bartholomew gave a mock salute with his right hand to his ever-extending forehead. "I'll go with the turnip, can't have her meeting up with the order and plotting to overthrow us.
Gus snorted. "She's not a turnip, Bart."
"She could be," Bartholomew muttered, narrowing one eye suspiciously as he trailed after Willow. "No one ever suspects the root vegetables."
Willow didn't even turn around. "I heard that."
Willow raised a hand without looking back and proceeded into the shop, Bart trailing after her like a puppy. "I swear, if I see even one whispering vegetable in there, I'm sounding the alarm."
Gus chuckled, shaking his head. "He's gonna get banned from half the capital by the end of the day."
Joren cracked a small smile. "Better half than all of it."
The two of them turned down the next street, where the buildings took on a slightly older charm. A few shops captured their interest, two of which being a porcelain shop and a bookshop. The district still hummed with quiet order, but here the rhythm felt a little slower and more laid-back.
Awnings stretched over open windows, and the scent of brewed tea and old paper drifted on the air. A shopkeeper swept his steps lazily, chatting with a woman stringing dried herbs into bundles across the way.
Gus pointed with his thumb. "That porcelain place is calling my name. I want to see if they buy, too."
"After that, can we check out that bookshop over there," Joren said, pointing left a bit. "I want to see if they have this years book in stock."
Gus gave a firm nod. "Deal. We'll do your Auspex business after I talk plates."
The porcelain storefront shimmered faintly with stacked displays in the window, filled with sparkly clean plates that looked fit for a king.
The plates caught the sunlight like glassy mirrors, each rim detailed with intricate gold inlays or delicate painted scenes of figures from legend and others of koi fish. There were designs that made your jaw drop for how beautiful they were, even more so when it was on the inside of a bowl.
Gus let out a reverent whistle. "I swear, if I had soup in one of those, I'd be afraid to eat it. I think it might crack if I set it down wrong"
He leaned closer to the glass, his breath fogging a corner as he admired a shallow dish painted with a dragon winding through clouds. The scales were rendered so finely it looked stitched from thread rather than painted, each one catching just a glint of the afternoon light.
He stepped back, cracking his knuckles. "Alright. Let's head in and see if I can sell some of my stuff. A city of this magnitude must be a good place to expose my name even more."
The bell above the door chimed softly as they entered. The porcelain shop's interior was pristine, far more spacious than Gus's shop ever was, Joren thought to himself. A pair of attendants looked up from behind the counter. One of them, a young woman with ribbon-tied sleeves and a shopkeeper's ledger in hand, greeted them as customers.
Gus returned the nod and stepped forward, carefully pulling the satchel from his shoulder. "Actually, I was hoping to speak with whoever handles acquisitions."
The woman blinked, then gestured to her coworker. "That would be him, what have you got for us today?"
Gus unfastened the flap of his satchel and knelt slightly as he pulled out a wrapped bundle. With practiced care, he unfolded the cloth and revealed a set of three plates, each with a distinct swirling pattern that seemed to catch the light in layers. One bore a subtle cobalt wave design rippling across its center, another featured an etched mountain ridge with real mineral flake embedded in the glaze, and the last shimmered with a mirrored spiral of gold dust baked just beneath the surface.
The attendant's expression changed almost immediately. His brows lifted as he leaned in, fingers hovering just above the edge of the display without touching.
"…This layering," he muttered. "That's not brushwork. That's a multi-stage bake with raw suspension—"
The woman beside him stepped around to see. "Hold on… Is that mountain ridge etched into the base before glaze application?"
Neither of them looked up at Gus, but their fascination was clear.
"These aren't samples," the man said at last. "They're signature pieces."
Gus gave a slow nod, arms crossed. "They're mine. I go by Marcellus. From Glazebend."
That got their full attention.
The woman's eyes widened, and the man exhaled softly like something had clicked into place. "Wait. You mean THE Augustus Marcellus? The one who created the strongest dishware anywhere in the world while still maintaining elegance in the designs?"
"We had a merchant through last season trying to resell one of your older dishes," the man said. "People thought it was a one-off, a work of marvel. Didn't think we'd ever see the source here."
The man straightened, clearly trying to maintain his composure now. "We'd be honored to make an offer on these. If you're open to it, we'd also love to discuss consignment or a limited showcase. Whatever you would have availability for."
Gus rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide the grin tugging at his mouth. "Sure, we can talk terms. I've got a few more packed if you're serious, but they aren't cheap pieces by any means."
"We're very serious," the woman said, already moving to clear a velvet-lined display tray. "Do you have any signed?"
"On the underside of any piece," Gus replied. "You'll find the stamp on each with my signature."
He looked up with new urgency. "We'll need to document these for verification, but I have no doubt they're authentic. Most of the trade artisans who pass through here just talk about your durability methods like it's legend."
Gus gave a casual shrug, though he couldn't hide the quiet pride in his voice. "I just don't like seeing my plates shatter. Kind of defeats the purpose of dishes, you know."
The man nodded eagerly. "Truly. We'll have paperwork ready by the time you're back."
Gus gave a final nod, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "Then I'll swing by again in an hour or so."
With that, he turned and rejoined Joren near the entrance, the two slipping back into the soft rhythm of the district's streets.
As they crossed the lane, the scent of old paper and ink met them. The modest shop to their left bore a painted wooden sign: Books, Maps, and Ledgers.
The bell gave a crisp chime as they stepped into the shop. The interior was cool and hushed, the kind of quiet that settled deep in the bones. Walls of shelves stretched up to a lofted ceiling, all packed with leather-bound volumes and thick scrolls tied in twine. A single ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, stirring the faint scent of parchment, dust, and oil ink.
A clerk sat behind a long counter, half-buried behind an open ledger. He glanced up briefly, nodded, and returned to writing without a word.
Joren scanned the nearest table. Most of it was filled with regional maps, surveyor's logs, and trade manifests. Gus passed by a shelf labeled 'Auspex and Almanacs'.
He paused, squinting at the titles until one stood out.
"Think I found it," Gus said, tapping the spine of a thick, matte-black volume tucked between many others of the same look.
Joren stepped over as Gus slid the book free and turned it in his hands. The cover was firm, stamped with silver lettering that caught the shop's warm light.
472nd T.E. Auspex Threat Registry – Unified Annual Edition
Compiled in Cooperation with the Allied States and the Department of Defense