Settling and change

The Gateway, as the sign referred to it, was still and warm, the light was soft and bright enough to comfortably see everything but dim enough to not hurt the eyes when glancing at the lanterns. As he looked at the box he had brought with him, he started to walk before stopping, while calm, the situation was still uncanny to him yet a slight giddiness had risen within the depths of his mind.

Roots grew from the floor and lifted the box before they shuffled towards the counter, the cluster constantly growing new and withering old as it approached, the feeling felt natural yet his human mind still saw the oddity in it.

He had long accepted the reality of the situation, that whatever had happened to him had happened but it'd be long before he considered such an existence as normal or regular, he didn't even lift a finger as his roots unzipped the lid of the box and brought out the parcels kept inside. His employer would have to forgive him for stealing the parcels if he ever saw them again.

There was nothing of interest within the parcels, even though his hands were still by his side, his roots could feel the softness of the plushie, the cold metal of the necklace and the delicate nature of the garden decoration in the shape of a frog.

The sensations weren't transferred to his brain, neither were the command sent from it, it was like his core consciousness no longer resided within his body, even while the uncanny situation lingered within his mind he kept feeling less and less estrangement from his new body and mind.

Moving the items to the warehouse, he wandered around the building, the Gateway as the sign called it, by the same logic he must be the Peddler. 'The sign says no violence within the Gateway yet I doubt anyone could be violent towards me when roots can appear from any surface.' The fair trade rule also caused his mind to spin, both human and not.

The benefit of a bigger mind showed its wonders, as while his thoughts weren't much faster unless he focused on one, he could think of so many different things compared to before.

As he was lost in his thoughts, a sensation quickly flooded his body, it felt odd at first but quickly became familiar, the best way to describe it was the pressure you felt when you shook hands with someone.

The handle on the front door twisted and slowly opened, behind it was a man, he was average looking both in body and features, hazel eyes and jet black shoulder length hair, he wore leather armour and hid within a black cloak, his waist was adorned by a small satchel and misty slim dagger, it took a second to recall it was referred to as a stiletto.

Misty didn't refer to the shine of metal but that the stiletto seemed to be made of mist, constantly swirling and slightly transparent at times, and covered in blood, as was its owner.

The man was limping and clutching his side, as blood leaked through the gap of his gloves. His eyes were sharp as they quickly wandered around the hall and settled on Edward, the man stood in the doorway in a dazzled way, most likely due to most of his blood being outside of his body opposed to in.

Just as he seemed to hesitate, shouts sounded through the door causing him to stumble forward and winch as his wounds ached. Edward closed the door as one stranger was enough for his liking, not before noting that the side facing outwards was the same as the inside of the door, unlike the door he entered through which was plain.

"Who are you?" The man asked in a gruff voice as he glanced at the now shut door, even in such a weak state he kept a strong air about him, and while the distance between them wasn't small, Edward wasn't only hearing sounds from his ears.

After a small pause, Edward replied "I'm the Peddler and this is the Gateway, feel free to rest for a while before we talk further." The man's eyes spoke of his wariness but his body showed the fatigue from his injuries, the politeness shown by this Peddler made him cautious.

Edward himself was once again panicking, as he still wasn't fully sure of how to deal with the stranger and decided to ask him to rest first, giving him ample time to think. He sat back down in his chair and closed his eyes to think, however, he could still 'see' the man as he gingerly sat down on a sofa.

He wanted to help the man, his first instinct was to approach and help his wounds but after a moment to think, he realised he lacked any sort of first aid knowledge and the man seemed more likely to cut him down than to allow him close to him. While seemingly lost in thought, the man had turned his gaze away and started to access his injuries.

A wound sat below his chest, having narrowly missed his lungs while his leg was missing flesh like it had an inch sliced off. He grimaced as he took off his glove and pointed towards his wound, in the middle of his palm sparks flickered into life before giving way to sky-blue flame, the fire slowly danced in his palm before it climbed to the end of his finger. The flame licked his wound and burnt it closed, with the smell of burnt flesh spreading before quickly disappearing, replaced with the smell of the forest.

By the time he had tented his leg wound, he seemed ready to collapse. Edward watched the scene in wonder, he had barely wrapped his head around his own condition and now he watched a man produce and control fire. He also noticed any blood which made its way to the floor or leaked onto the sofa was absorbed, he could feel it gather below the floorboards.

As a test, he willed roots to form a jar in the warehouse, it worked as roots twisted together before retracting, leaving a wooden jar sitting on the shelf. The blood gathered inside and settled there, sealed away as the last bit of it was collected from the floor.

Having long opened his eyes, Edward observed the man a second time but couldn't see anything inhuman about him, no holes for fire to flow from or a place to hide a blow torch. The man just lay there weakly, unaware the entire process had been closed observed and monitored.

An hour passed before he woke up and glanced around, perkier than before with a little more colour to his face, his enemies hadn't followed him in here and there was no noise from the door suggesting they were attempting to bash it down.

The man behind the counter was motionless, resting with his eyes closed, the soft glow of the lanterns was deceiving, almost making him forget the door shutting on its own and his pursuer's lack of hammering against it.

The man seemed to awaken at his slight movement, even though they were on opposite sides of the hall. He had a slight smile on his face, and his appearance was unimpressive at best but his eyes matched the sofas, both in colour and in aura.

More things clicked in place in his mind now his wounds weren't leaking, the lack of blood anywhere presides his own body was unnerving, as he never saw the man come over to clean it and was unaware when it disappeared.

"My name's Sinclaire, I humbly thank you for sheltering me in my time of need." He gave a slight bow, his voice still felt a bit weak yet the man seemed to hear him perfectly as he approached. The Peddler, as he referred to himself, motioned towards one of the stools before his counter, beckoning Sinclaire to sit.

The cushion was soft and of high quality, even he hadn't seen something of similar standards and yet it was used to entertain guests. There was something odd about the door too, he was chased into the middle of nowhere, so why would such a place be in the middle of nowhere too?

A voice broke up his clustered thoughts, it was soft yet the weight behind it was too heavy for a man of his size and build, and it was just as loud and clear as it had been when he lay near the entrance. "Now you are feeling better Mister Sinclaire, we can maybe have a little chat." The man stood behind the counter, motionless, almost like he was a part of the furniture.

Did he want compensation? It would be fair, even now his enemies hadn't broken through the door and now it was a frontal battle he'd be able to deal with them. "I'm interested in your flame," Terror struck him, he could almost taste the curiosity the man shared with his enemies, ", It's quite a remarkable ability if I do say." More remarkable than everything he had seen so far? He had his doubts, was he being tested?

"It's just my power, there are far stronger Noble families out there." His flame had already been exposed, there was little point concealing the nature of it, distracting the question of its origin.

Intrigue coloured his voice, "Family power?", as he leaned against the counter, "Do all members of your family possess such a power?" Pain flashed through his mind, numbing his wounds as he recalled his family.

"They did Sir." If it were his enemy he would have blown his top, but the man didn't seem to be teasing him or testing him, he only showed genuine interest. But it should be common knowledge that a Noble's bloodline has such powers? Even a recluse should know such things, right?

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss Mister Sinclaire." The edges of his interest were now laced with pity, not enough to make one angry but just enough to show his stance. He had long read the sign on the counter, he failed to recall the name of the language but the meaning came to him and even lingered while his gaze did not.

The Peddler, the title made him sound like a commoner selling hand-carved toys or ill-gotten goods and yet the building whispered to him that even royals would be humbled by the minor details. The contradiction didn't clash either but meshed together, causing an almost laughable situation to occur when one noticed it.

It was as if everything Nobles aspire to possess and show off were mere goods to be hawked by a commoner on a street.

"Your rules speak of trade Sir Peddler, may I ask what I must trade for what you've already given?" His mannerisms had surfaced again, even after all this time he still tried to appear noble in speech. His words seemed to give pause to the Peddler, not that he was in motion in the first place.

"It was nothing much, see it as a gift if you will, a minor thing for your first time here." It was as if saving his life was a causal thing, a mundane thing, gifted to him for simply showing up but he couldn't bring himself to be angry, the Peddler said it with sincerity, not arrogance.

It was obvious that he didn't carry much with him to trade in the first place yet he wasn't one to be outdone, "Then please accept this gift as a thank you for sheltering me." He had acquired it by chance but after studying it for the past week he felt he wasn't suited for it.

On the counter now lay a thin booklet, the cover simply contained the sentence "Words of power" in black.