The Merchant District of the Capital was located on the upper tier of the city, where the air was thinner and the prices were thicker.

  Elias walked down the street, clutching the hem of his bright yellow robe. The wind here was aggressive. It whipped around the marble corners of the high-end shops, trying to lift his skirts.

  "Impolite," Elias muttered, batting the fabric down. "The wind has no manners."

  He looked ridiculous. He knew this. He was a pale, void-touched man wearing a robe meant for a novice half his height. His ankles were exposed. Unit 74 was hiding under his hood, making his head look lumpy.

  Next to him, Rylus looked even worse. The six-foot-tall Knight was wearing a yellow cape that looked like a bib. His plate armor clanked with every step.

  "Stop clanking," Elias whispered.

  "I am trying, Sir," Rylus hissed. "But my greaves are chafing. And I believe that woman is laughing at us."

  Elias looked. A woman in a shimmering dress made of light-weave fabric was indeed giggling behind her hand.

  Elias narrowed his eyes. He focused on her dress. It had a strange metal track running down the back.

  The sound made his teeth ache.

  "What is that?" Elias asked, horrified.

  "A zipper, Sir," Rylus explained. "It is a fastener. Very modern. Much faster than buttons."

  "Buttons were honest," Elias said. "They required commitment. A button says, 'I am closed.' This... ... it screams."

  He shuddered. He missed the Third Era. He missed toggles. He missed silence.

  "We need pants," Elias decided. "And dark robes. I cannot be taken seriously as a harbinger of doom while looking like a banana."

  They found a clothing store called .

  The sign was made of neon mana-tubes. The windows displayed mannequins that moved, posing and winking at passersby.

  Elias stepped inside.

  The music hit him first. It was a rhythmic, thumping beat that sounded like a golem walking on a tin roof.

  OONTS-OONTS-OONTS.

  "Why is the air vibrating?" Elias asked, clutching his staff.

  "It is 'Bard-Core'," Rylus shouted over the noise. "Very popular."

  Elias looked at the clothes. Racks of neon vests, shimmering cloaks, and pants made of a material that looked like liquid metal.

  He touched a vest. It felt slick. Oily.

  "Synthetic Wyvern-Silk," a sales clerk announced, popping up from behind a rack. He wore a suit that changed color every three seconds. "Polyester blend. Stain resistant. Soul resistant."

  Elias wiped his hand on his robe.

  'It feels dead. In the Third Era, robes were woven with intention. Spider-silk gathered by blind monks. Wool sheared from cloud-sheep. This fabric has no history. It was woven with indifference.'

  "I require," Elias said, his voice cutting through the music, "pants. Black. Matte. Non-vibrating."

  The clerk looked him up and down. He sneered at the yellow novice robe.

  "The clearance rack is in the back," the clerk sniffed. "Next to the trash."

  Elias felt the twitch in his fingers. . He could separate this man into [Polyester] and [Smugness].

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  Rylus stepped forward.

  "Sir," Rylus whispered, putting a hand on Elias’s shoulder. "Let me handle the acquisition. You... stand there. Look menacing. Do not sort the employees."

  Elias hesitated. "He is rude."

  "He is retail," Rylus said. "It is his nature."

  Rylus steered Elias toward the back of the store. They found a dusty corner labeled Vintage / Classic

  It was full of clothes that hadn't sold in fifty years. Wool. Cotton. Linen.

  "Finally," Elias breathed. "Texture."

  He grabbed a pair of black trousers. A white shirt. A long, heavy black coat that looked like something an undertaker would wear to a funeral.

  "Try them on," Rylus said. "I will guard the curtain."

  Elias stepped into the changing cubicle. He pulled off the yellow robe. He pulled on the trousers.

  They fit. Mostly.

  He reached for the fastener.

  It wasn't a button.

  It was a zipper.

  Elias stared at the metal teeth. He frowned. He grabbed the tab. He pulled.

  It stopped halfway.

  He pulled harder.

  "It is stuck," Elias announced. "The teeth have bitten me."

  "Wiggle it, Sir," Rylus called from outside.

  "I am wiggling. It is obstinate."

  Elias felt a spike of irrational anger. He was the Grand Archivist. He had sealed a dimensional breach. He had killed a Void God.

  And he was being defeated by a pair of pants.

  "Close," Elias commanded.

  He tapped the metal tab.

  He didn't want to use a lot of mana. Just a tiny

  spell. A simple cantrip to join two edges.

  He focused on the concept of .

  .

  He pushed the mana.

  He forgot that zippers were continuous mechanisms. He forgot that the concept of "Closing" was absolute.

  The zipper didn't just go up.

  It vanished.

  The metal teeth dissolved. The fabric of the left pant leg merged with the fabric of the right. The fly fused shut. The waist fused to his shirt.

  "Oh," Elias said.

  He looked down. He was now wearing a seamless, solid tube of fabric.

  But the spell didn't stop there.

  It jumped.

  It hit the curtain. The slit in the fabric sealed. The curtain became a solid wall of cloth.

  It hit the rack of coats outside. Buttons merged with buttonholes. Pockets fused shut. Sleeves closed at the cuffs.

  It hit the front door.

  SHLOOP.

  The door frame melted into the door. The glass fused to the wood. The entrance became a solid, seamless part of the wall.

  "My pocket!" the sales clerk screamed from the front of the store. "My hand! It has rejected me!"

  Rylus ripped the curtain open (tearing the fabric, because it wouldn't part).

  "Sir?" Rylus asked, staring at Elias’s fused pants. "Why are you... smooth?"

  "The topology was flawed," Elias said defensively. "I corrected it."

  "You sealed the store," Rylus hissed. "There is no door. We are trapped in a tomb of polyester."

  "Get the knife," Elias sighed. "I need to be cut out of these trousers."

  While Rylus sawed at the indestructible vintage fabric ("Hold still, Sir, I don't want to stab your... leg"), Elias looked around the back room.

  His eyes landed on a display rack.

  It was a seasonal display. Festival of Frights

  There was a costume on the mannequin.

  It consisted of a mask with wild, crazy eyes and a foam beard. A fake book titled . And a tattered grey robe covered in brown splotches.

  The label read: THE MAD ARCHIVIST.Includes Authentic Tea Stains!

  Elias froze.

  He pushed Rylus’s knife away. He walked over to the costume.

  He touched the fake stains. They were painted on. Crude. Mocking.

  "Tea stains," Elias whispered.

  They remembered the stains. They didn't remember his name. They didn't remember his sacrifice. They didn't remember that he had saved the books. But they remembered he was a messy drinker.

  He felt cold. A deep, aching cold that had nothing to do with the Void.

  He looked at the mask. It looked deranged. Is that how they saw him? A lunatic in a tower?

  "Sir?" Rylus asked softly.

  Elias wiped his hand on his own robe, as if trying to clean a stain that wasn't there.

  "It is... inaccurate," Elias said, his voice thick. "My beard was never that patchy."

  Rylus stepped up beside him. He looked at the costume. He looked at Elias’s face.

  Rylus reached out. He knocked the mannequin over.

  It fell with a clatter. The mask skittered across the floor.

  "Garbage," Rylus said firmly. "Bad stitching. Cheap fabric."

  Elias looked at the Knight.

  "Yes," Elias said. "Cheap."

  He turned away.

  "Did you finish the pants?"

  "I made a hole," Rylus said. "It's... functional."

  They left through the back wall.

  Since the door was gone, Elias had to cast

  on the bricks. It made a neat, circular hole in the alleyway.

  Rylus stayed behind for a moment. He emptied his coin purse on the counter. Every last gold coin.

  "For the inventory," Rylus told the terrified, pocket-less clerk. "And for the pants."

  They walked out into the cool night air.

  Elias was wearing a black suit. It was slightly too big in the shoulders, and the pants were held up by a piece of rope, but it was dignified. He wore a long black coat that billowed in the wind.

  Rylus had found a dark grey cloak to cover his armor.

  They stood in the alley. The neon lights of the city buzzed overhead.

  Elias adjusted his collar. He looked at his reflection in a puddle.

  He didn't look like a banana anymore. He looked like a shadow. A specter.

  "Better," Elias said.

  "You look..." Rylus hesitated. "Like a man who has business."

  "I do," Elias said. "I have a meeting with the King."

  He checked his pocket. Unit 74 was nestled there, humming softly.

  "Come, Rylus," Elias said. "We are finally dressed for a funeral."

  Status UpdateMana Consumed:Current Mood:Inventory:

  +1 Black Suit, -1 Yellow Robe (Abandoned in a pile of shame) Reputation:

  "The Zipper Wizard" (Retail Legend) Rylus Wealth: