Eldrin was gone. Truly gone.
Leon had knelt beside the bed for a long time after the old man's last breath, his mind numb. He knew herbs, knew remedies for fevers and cuts, but death was a wound no paste or potion could heal. He'd watched helplessly as the only mentor he'd ever known slipped away, leaving behind a legacy of secrets and gold.
The funeral was simple, as village funerals often were. The town's apothecary and the tavern keeper came, their faces somber—even those who'd forgotten Eldrin's name remembered his kindness, his healing hands. Leon kept his promise: that night, he built a fire in the Whispering Forest, and when the ash cooled, he scattered it on the wind, letting Eldrin join the friends he'd lost so long ago.
Grief settled softly, not a sharp pain but a quiet weight. Leon didn't cry again—he'd shed enough tears by the bed—but he found himself lingering in Eldrin's cottage, running his fingers over the empty shelves where herbs had once sat. The books, already memorized, he packed carefully; the common herbs he sold to the apothecary, keeping only the rare, precious ones. And then there was the gold—twenty coins, hidden behind the wolfroot jar, heavy in his palm.
"We'll use it for the shop," Leon told Garin and Erika that evening. "Father, you said we needed fifteen more gold to buy a small storefront. This can make it bigger—enough for a bakery, a kitchen, and rooms to live in."
Garin stared at the coins, then at Leon. "This is your inheritance, son. It should be yours to keep."
"It's mine to use," Leon replied. "Eldrin would want it this way. He wanted me to see the world, to grow. A shop in Sarneth is the first step."
Garin nodded, his voice thick. "Then it's settled."
The search for a shop took over a month. Sarneth wasn't large, but good buildings in the town center were scarce—especially ones with space for a bakery and a home. It was the Lord's steward who finally helped, mentioning a vacant stone building near the Lord's Manor, once owned by a merchant who'd moved to the capital.
When the family went to see it, Leon's breath caught. It was perfect: a street facing storefront with large wooden shutters, a courtyard in the back, and rooms branching off—two bedrooms, a living area, a spacious kitchen that would work as a bakery, a woodshed, stables, and even two guest rooms. The price was steep—twenty-three gold coins, discounted only because of the Lord's connection—but with Eldrin's legacy and their savings, they could just afford it.
Renovations began at once. The kitchen got top priority: Garin built a large brick oven for bread, while Leon designed a dual-stove with two iron pots—one large, one small—modeled after the stoves he'd remembered from his former life. Iron pots weren't cheap, but Leon insisted; they made cooking faster, easier, perfect for the savory dishes he loved. They added shelves for flour and spices, a wooden table for kneading dough, and a washbasin for cleaning. By the time they finished, they'd spent three more gold coins, leaving their savings nearly empty—but they had a home, a shop, a future.
Moving day came quickly. They packed Eldrin's books, the remaining herbs, their furniture, and sacks of flour. They said goodbye to Bart and Walker over a meal of stew and bread, Leon's throat tight as he hugged his friends. "Visit often," he said. "The shop's near the Lord's Manor—you can't miss it."
The bakery closed for three days to settle in. On the third morning, the shutters swung open, and a sign was hung above the door: Erika's Bakery, named for the woman who'd turned Leon's fermented dough into a livelihood. Before opening, Garin visited the other bakers in town—an unspoken tradition, a way to honor the unwritten rules of commerce. "We're lowering prices," he told them. "Not to undercut, but to celebrate the opening. Everyone deserves good bread at a fair price."
Leon smiled as he watched his father speak. Eldrin had taught him to respect knowledge; Garin taught him to respect others. Together, they were building something lasting. As the first customers began to gather, Leon felt a flicker of hope. Eldrin was gone, but his lessons lived on—in the herbs, in the gold, in the bread, in Leon himself.