The late afternoon sun cast shadows across the emptying marketplace. Many vendors were packing up or almost sold out of goods, as not much was ready this early in the season. Pennants fluttered in the breeze as people puttered around venders and moved on to their evening tasks.

Keeping his head low a customer bartered for the last of the herbs a vendor had. He did this most market days, preferring to skulk out toward the end and scoop up what's left, sacrificing quality for quantity.

"You're robbing me Syko," the vendor chastised, "A customer paid me twice that just an hour ago."

"Did their herbs look like this?" Syko gestured to the herbs between them, brown and withering.

The vendor huffed, "15."

"12," Syko retorted "Final offer."

With a grumble the vendor turned to wrap the herbs. Syko dumped the rest of his coin into his hand. 

There go my dinner plans, he thought.

When the vendor handed him the bundle he thought about putting it in with the rest of his wares, but he didn't want them any more damaged so he carried them home. The heat made his palms sweat and he fumbled his keys when he reached the door.

The apothecary Syko called home was a modest establishment purchased by his master several decades ago. It sat on a quiet street close to the edge of the districts. Syko upheld the business and looked after customers, using his considerable knowledge of plants and medicine to help the sick and injured. Even making the occasional house call.

Throwing his coat on a hook behind the door Syko snapped his fingers to open the curtains. Syko was one of the many merchants in the city who was gifted with magical affinity. According to his master, it had been so strong it had drawn them together.

Despite this he had no formal training in Runework or Wylde Magic. His only knowledge was what his master had taught him, and what he'd taught himself while his master had been away.

Not expecting many more customers this late in the day, Syko dropped the herbs on the reception counter and unlocked the back room behind the staircase. He dropped his sack on the desk and began unloading his spoils. 

He'd gotten a discount or deal at nearly every stall he'd visited and he unloaded them categorically onto the desk. Honeycombs from the apiary. Two children's sized cotton shirts. Charcoal. A crate of jars, two of which were cracked. Stones and trinkets and herbs. Finally a new blade he'd commissioned.

The blade was the reason for the stinginess. It had cost a months earnings, plus extra to keep the smith from calling the guard. Only magicians with official licenses were allowed to commission runic weapons. His masters license had barely been enough and a gracious tip had almost blow his budget. But finally he had it in his hands.

The blade was wrapped in cloth and as he tugged on it the blade sliced clean through. The runework was immediately noticeable. The sharp symbols engraved into the cold steel. The hilt was just as impressive. A wooden handle with a leather grip sewn together with catgut. On top of the runework, Syko had asked that the entire blade be sturdy enough to boil repeatedly, for sanitary purposes.

Putting the blade with the rest of his spoils, Syko began to organize it all. He set the honeycombs over a rack to let the honey drain from them, tore the cotton shirts onto bandage strips and set them over a fire to boil. He rigged his still with fresh herbs and lit the flames. He filled his good jars with more herbs and honey and left the bad ones to be fixed. 

Finally he slid a large satchel out from under the desk. It contained all his travel supplies and was in desperate need of restocking. 

Pulling out a large rolled piece of cloth he spread it out and placed the jars in the middle. The cloth was embordered with runes around the edge, some of which matched what was on his knife.

Placing his hands on the cloth Syko brought the runes to life. He used the runes of mending, of fusing and transmuting. He willed every molecule of sand to fuse back into smooth glass. The runes glowed brighter and brighter in a flash that left the jars sparkling.

Finally Syko relaxed and inspected them. Good as new. He tucked one into his bag, ground his hunck of charcoal into a fine powder and poured it into the other. Then he put the jar and the cloth back into the bag, tucked his new knife into a sleeve on the side and set the whole thing carefully back on the floor.

He slumped into his chair and let the heat of his still wash over him as he listened to the bubbles. a different gurgling sound caught his attention. He was hungry. But he'd spent the last of his coin at the market and his kitchen was bare. This was a common occurrence and Syko had created his own solution.

He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a vial of concentrated orange liquid. He placed a drop on his tongue and flooded his mouth with citrus flavor. That's essentially what it was, concentrated fruits and vegetables designed to give the same nutrients as three square meals. It was one of the first distillations he'd crafted when his master had left, and it was part of the reason he was in such good shape despite hardly leaving the shop.

By early evening Syko had accomplished all his tasks and was settling down to write his field notes when a young voice called out from the front of the store.

"Hello! Can someone help me?"

Syko rushed to the front to see a young boy jumping about at the counter. The sun had set behind the city wall and the store was dark except for one candle. 

"Hello," Syko greeted, "Can I help you with something?"

"Are you the healer?" asked the boy.

"Yes."

"Somebody's hurt," the boy started hopping from foot to foot, "you better come quick."

"Alright, how bad?"

"Oh real bad. You better bring everything you got."

Though the boys demeanor was off-putting, Syko chocked it up to the morbid curiosities young boys often had. He grabbed everything that might be useful, shoved it into his satchel and locked the store behind him.

The boy was running along ahead of him impatiently, calling after him and exclaiming dramatically that the patient was going to die if he didn't hurry. Syko was keeping up at first, but then the boy started to deliberately outpace him. They were winding their way through back alleys near the port. The boy darted around a corner but when Syko rounded it he was gone. 

The streets were dim and quiet. Far ahead a figure appeared and Syko called out.

"If you want my help you can't just run away."

But the figure wasn't the boy like he'd thought. It was much bigger and coming towards him.

He turned abruptly but there was another figure behind him, closer.

He turned again and started running but he hadn't been paying attention and found himself even more lost in the maze of alleys. He could hear them after him. Turning left and then right and right again he slammed into someone knocking them both over. 

It was the boy who'd come to the shop.

"You," Syko huffed, "You tricked me."

The boy recovered quicker than him, scrambling to his feet and taking off again. Syko was right behind him this time. He chased the boy down, hoping he would lead him to an open street he recognized. Instead he scrambled onto a crate and jumped a wall. Syko wasn't athletic enough to follow. 

His chest burned with every breath, his limbs were numb and he was tired of running. Hearing his pursuers getting closer, Syko set his bag down and prepared for a fight. 

The taller figure emerged first. He slid to a halt at the end of the alley and stared him down. Syko heard the other figure approach but couldn't see them around the corner.

"Come on big guy," Syko put his fists up shakily as his opponent stepped closer. 

The two spun around each other, each looking for an opening. From the shadows someone whistled and Syko turned to look.

Wham.

A right hook knocked him to the ground.

Blood and dirt filled his mouth as his vision went dark.