"Let's check out the grounds," Cane said, heading west toward the garden. The lilac bushes lining the path had long since bloomed and dropped their flowers, but the scent still lingered, soft and nostalgic.
They passed a long, open-faced shed packed with equipment—pushcarts, pails, hedge clippers, rusted trowels. Everything needed to tame a garden. Maybe a decade ago.
The garden itself was a blend of fresh blooms and tangled weeds. Someone had done the bare minimum to contain the overgrowth, but it was crying out for a real gardener.
Fergis plucked a weed from the edge of the plot and broke off the stem, chewing lazily as they walked. "Looks rough, but with the right hands, this place could shine. I'd rather see vegetables here than flowers, though."
"Same," Cane agreed. "The lilac bushes do plenty. Why bother with more?"
They stopped beside an old water pump. It stood crooked but intact, like a soldier waiting for orders.
"Think it still works?" Fergis asked.
"Probably need to prime it first." Cane eyed the rusted handle as Fergis grabbed it with both hands and began pumping.
The sound that followed was a chorus of metal groans and dry grinding.
"Prime?" Fergis asked, still pumping.
Cane swiped his ring and pulled out a canteen. "Keep going." He poured water into the small opening where the rusted rod entered the housing.
"What's that going to do?"
"Listen," Cane said. "Hear how it changed? From screech to suction?"
Fergis paused mid-pump, hearing the shift.
"There's a rubber flange inside," Cane continued. "Creates the seal. Without regular use, it shrinks or cracks. Water helps it expand just enough to pull again."
Fergis raised an eyebrow but kept working. A moment later, the pump coughed out a splatter of rust-colored water.
"Eugh," Fergis grimaced.
"Keep at it," Cane replied, stepping back.
The flow grew steadier with each pump, slowly shifting from brown to something close to clear. Cane stepped forward and splashed a handful on his face, sighing at the chill.
Fergis raised his arms in triumph. "Fixed it."
Cane laughed. "Better wash your hands." He took over the handle while Fergis knelt and rubbed his rust-covered palms under the stream.
"Didn't know it would be that simple," Fergis said.
"Grew up on a farm," Cane replied. "And blacksmiths make pumps."
Fergis grinned. "Of course they do."
"I'd replace the flange and swap the hardware," Cane said, studying the pump. "Then it'd be safe to drink from."
"Is that hard?"
"Basic stuff," Cane said, already walking back toward the house. "Let's check it out. Before Clara claims every room."
Fergis snorted. "Smart money says you're already too late for that."
The double doors stood open, a welcome invitation. The air inside carried the faint scent of staleness—rooms left untouched, windows sealed too long. But Cane noticed someone—likely Sophie—had cracked several panes open, letting in slivers of breeze.
The entry was tiled, with floor-to-ceiling shelves and twin closets framing the passage. Just past it, the flooring shifted to a rich, red wood, worn with use. Sun-faded rectangles betrayed the ghosts of rugs long removed.
To the left, two massive windows had been swung wide. Dust clung to the glass, but they remained intact. Beyond them, a winding staircase curled upward to the second floor. Cane gave it a glance but moved past it, stepping through an open archway.
"Formal dining area," Fergis announced, gesturing. "See those empty glass cabinets? Prime space for heirloom china no one ever uses."
Cane raised an eyebrow. "You have heirloom china?"
Fergis nodded solemnly. "Like two hundred years old. I'd probably be disowned if I chipped one."
Cane smirked, his eyes drifting to the long dining table. Light streaks traced its dusty surface—finger trails. Sophie had been here. He could picture her, running her hands across the grain, evaluating the room with quiet thoughtfulness.
Beyond the dining room lay the kitchen. The centerpiece was a wide, horseshoe-shaped prep island, lined with deep drawers on the inner curve. Overhead, dozens of brass hooks hung empty, waiting to cradle pots and pans.
Cane:We're checking out the kitchens.
Sophie:Isn't it amazing? The walk-in pantry, the freezer's even rune-ready.
Fergis:Nice layout?
Sophie: I'd bet it was designed by someone who actually worked in a kitchen.
Clara:We're upstairs. Sophie got lost in the kitchen like it was a treasure vault.
Sophie:I didn't… Was it really that long? Sorry!
Cane found Sophie stepping out of a double-doored bedroom. "I could fit ten of my dorm rooms in this thing."
Sophie nodded, eyes wide. "Running water with hot and cold runes. And the bathtub looks like a fountain from the central plaza."
Fergis shrugged. "Yeah, but does it come with an electric eel?"
Cane grinned, glancing around the spacious interior. "Where's Clara?"
Sophie gestured down the hall. Near the end, tucked into a corner, was a room a little smaller than the others. It had cornered windows, a cozy study nook, and enough shelves to house a mini library.
"This is it!" Clara lay flat on her back atop a bed stripped of linens and covered with a protective cloth. "Cane… buy this place so I can live here until I'm old and gray."
"Well… sure, if you say so."
Clara blinked. "Wait, really?"
"No." Cane laughed, shaking his head. "This place is too big. We haven't even looked at the other wing yet."
"That's the guest wing," Clara bounced upright, freckled face glowing with excitement. "Classmates can stay here after they graduate." She snapped her fingers. "Our own mercenary company!"
Fergis nodded with mock gravity. "Now that's a plan."
Sophie laughed as Cane pretended not to listen. "Honestly, I've never had more than a few platinum at once. Before I got to the Academy, a few hundred silver was the most I'd ever held."
Cane smiled. As modest as Sophie thought her upbringing had been, his had been even leaner. "Not anymore. Your family's name is climbing fast."
"Because of you," Sophie said, linking her arm through his.
He shrugged. That part was true—but also, Lorna Sweetwater was a master of her craft. She'd earned this moment. "I'll listen to your advice… and then ignore it and decide on my own," Cane teased. "So—what do you think of this place?"
Sophie smiled softly. "I like it. It's in the capital, but it feels private. And useful… especially after you graduate."
"I bet Telamon would rune it up for you," Fergis added. "And if not, you could guilt that old bastard Nos into it."
Clara grinned. "No pressure, Cane. But if you don't buy this place, I'll probably die… tragically… and you'll spend the rest of your life crushed with regret."
"Rest of my life?" Cane raised an eyebrow. "That seems long."
Fergis nodded. "At most, three weeks."
"More like two," Cane agreed.
"How much staff would a place like this even need?" he asked, half to himself.
"Stableman, gardener, cook with two helpers… two maids per wing, and a butler to run them all," Fergis ticked them off on his fingers. "Ten total. Less and someone's overworked. More and you're just feeding people for fun."
Cane raised a brow. "And what the hell do you know about staffing?"
"My family home's about this size," Fergis said, almost sheepishly.
"For the kitchen staff… a few gold a month is standard," Sophie chimed in. "The cook gets ten, helpers five each. That's twenty for the kitchen."
"Five each for the maids," Clara added, counting along. "Ten each for the gardener and stableman. And the butler's the highest, maybe twenty."
"That's… under a hundred gold a month," Clara realized aloud.
"See?" Sophie smiled. "Totally doable."
"We'll stop teasing," she added gently. "Let's go check out the other wing."
"My mum won't accept more than twenty percent of that kind of profit. To her, forty thousand platinum is the kind of wealth only royalty deals in," Sophie said, stepping into what could only be described as a sewing room as they continued exploring the right wing.
"My math might be a little off," Clara added with a playful shrug, "but even after splitting the profits and buying this property, you'd still have around fifty thousand platinum left. And let's be serious—how much work did it take to earn that? Your ability to earn is tied to your smithing and metallurgy, and you're only getting better."
Cane stood in the room, starting to see potential instead of reasons to walk away. "This suite would be perfect for your mum. As my business partner, it'd make sense for her to have space here. When she and your dad come to the capital with new inventory, they'd have a place to stay—and a place to work instead of borrowing someone else's shop."
Sophie's eyes shimmered. "Cane… don't do this for me. Do it for yourself. It's okay if you don't want it."
Cane pulled her close. "You worry too much. And if it turns into a problem later, I can always sell it. Just a few swords or armor sets a year would cover the upkeep." He smiled. "Fine. I'm convinced."
Sophie lit up, not for herself, but for him. "I can already picture you in that forge."
Cane nodded, ignoring the smug grins from Clara and Fergis.
Clara:I want my room painted light green…
Fergis:Guess I should pick one too.
Cane:Don't you have a house here in the capital?
Fergis:Yeah… but my family lives there. Where's the fun in that?
Cane laughed, heading down to explore the lower level of the guest wing, wondering quietly if Telamon had set this whole thing up from the start.
By the time the archmage returned with Brammel, the group had gathered in the courtyard, lounging around what used to be a fountain. The soft scent of lilac still lingered in the air.
Brammel smirked at the look on Cane's face. "You look like a man about to take a leap."
Cane gave a modest shrug. "Not sure I'd call it that—but yeah. I've decided to buy the property."
Telamon offered a small, knowing smile. "Good. I'll have your platinum transferred and the lease sent to the Academy for signing." He paused. "Do you know anyone here in the capital you'd trust to hire staff?"
Cane thought for a moment, then nodded. "If you could ask Nina from the Olivara Auction House, I think she'd be perfect."