They stayed in a room above the shop—two narrow beds, one small window, and a thick wool curtain that didn't quite close all the way. Silas didn't charge them for the night. "Consider it part of the trade," he said. "And I'm curious to see if you survive the week."
That evening, the town shifted.
Where before there had been wary glances and silence, now people approached them—mostly young women. They asked strange questions, offered help, giggled in pairs. Most of the attention wasn't on Matt.
It was Dave.
One girl brought him a hand-woven charm "for protection." Another offered him a bundle of roasted root vegetables wrapped in cloth. A third touched his arm and smiled like she already knew him.
Matt stood nearby, watching all of it with a tight jaw.
Later, he cornered Silas near the back of the shop. "What's going on? Why are they all acting like Dave's a—"
Silas raised an eyebrow. "Like he's someone important?"
Matt hesitated, then nodded.
Silas chuckled. "He's overweight."
Matt blinked. "Yeah? So?"
"In this region, that's rare. Very rare. Most people here are lean—out of necessity, not preference. Food is hard-earned, travel is constant, and the work is hard. If a man carries extra weight, it usually means he's someone of standing. A noble. A merchant lord. A court mage who doesn't lift a damn finger."
Matt looked toward the window, where Dave was laughing with a girl who had braided flowers into his hair.
"Huh."
"Don't take it personally," Silas said, sipping from his ever-present mug. "You're not invisible. You're just... common-looking."
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
That night, as they sat on their beds, Dave was still grinning. "Not gonna lie, man. I think I'm finally thriving."
Matt threw a pillow at him.
Then they saw it.
Through the thin curtain and the small glass window, the sky had changed.
It started with a ripple—like heat above asphalt, but spreading across the stars. Then came the colors. Blues and reds, streaked with orange and green, moving like waves through the black. No source. No sound. Just pulsing lights that stretched across the entire sky, shifting patterns like they were trying to form symbols.
Dave stood up and pressed his face to the glass. "That's not the Northern Lights."
"No," Matt said, not moving. "It's something else."
From the street outside, they could hear people gathering. Some were murmuring prayers. Others just stood in silence, watching.
Silas didn't come upstairs, but a low hum began from the shop below. A quiet, droning chant that didn't sound like any language they knew.
Matt finally looked at Dave. "Still thriving?"
Dave shrugged. "Little less now."
Morning arrived slowly. The light outside was pale and cold, filtering through the thin curtain like it didn't want to be there. Matt sat up first, blinking at the dim gray sky.
Dave groaned from the other bed. "Why is it so bright and still depressing?"
Matt stood and stretched. "Feels like we're stuck under a giant lamp."
They got dressed and headed downstairs. The shop was open, but quiet. Shelves were half-restocked, and the scent of something herbal drifted from the back room.
Silas stood behind the counter, sipping from his mug like usual.
"You saw the sky last night?" Matt asked.
Silas nodded. "Yeah. It happens once a year. Roughly."
Dave raised an eyebrow. "That's normal around here?"
"Normal enough. We call it the Ribbon Sky. No one's really sure what causes it. The scholars say it might be magic in the upper air. Or something to do with the moons. Doesn't matter much—people just watch and go on with their lives."
Matt frowned. "No one's worried about it?"
Silas shrugged. "Some farmers take it as a sign of good luck. Some think it's a warning of a rough season. Honestly? It's just lights. Pretty, strange, and unexplained. But not dangerous. At least, not so far."
Dave let out a breath. "Good. I was starting to think we triggered some end-of-the-world event."
Silas chuckled. "You'd know. The sky would've screamed or something."
Matt leaned on the counter. "What now? If we're going to find this archmage you mentioned, we probably need gear. Maps. Food."
"And a way to not walk for months," Dave muttered.
Silas nodded. "Yeah. You'll want to prepare. You're headed toward Elandor—old roads still lead that way, but they're not safe. Bandits, beasts, things worse than either. You've got a long way to go."
Matt exchanged a look with Dave. "We'll manage."
Silas set his mug down. "I'll help where I can. But you'll need coin. And probably a weapon or two."
Dave glanced toward the street. "Think I could charm a few more locals into throwing gifts our way?"
Silas grinned. "Maybe. Just don't promise to marry any of them."
After breakfast—a bowl of the same stew from yesterday, now cold—Matt and Dave returned to the shop. Silas was crouched behind the counter, sorting through a crate of oddly-shaped glass containers.
"We need money," Matt said.
Silas grunted. "That's not a question, but yes. You do."
Dave leaned on the counter. "Any chance you've got a quest board out back? Maybe some goblins that need clearing?"
Silas snorted. "No goblins. But I do have work."
He stood up and set a large glass jar on the counter. Inside floated what looked like a preserved hand, but it had too many fingers and scales along the knuckles.
"This town isn't exactly rich, but folks always need things. Deliveries. Repairs. Odd jobs." He pointed a thumb toward the back door. "I've got a list."
Matt nodded. "We'll take it."
Silas raised an eyebrow. "You don't even want to know what's on it?"
"Nope," Dave said. "If it pays, we'll do it."
Silas disappeared into the back and returned with a slip of paper and a canvas satchel. "You're running deliveries. Three stops. First, a box of powdered bone to the weaver across the square. Second, a roll of treated hide to the leatherworker near the well. Third, a sealed flask to a man named Orven outside town—he's a little strange. Don't open it, don't ask."
Matt took the bag and the list. "That it?"
Silas smiled. "For today. If you don't mess it up, there might be more."
Dave opened the flap and peered inside. "Nothing breathing in here, right?"
"Not this time."
They stepped out into the street, the canvas bag slung over Matt's shoulder and the list in hand. The town felt a little more normal in the daylight, even if the sun still hadn't fully shown itself. People moved about with quiet purpose, and a few even nodded to the two strangers as they passed.
Dave elbowed Matt. "Look at us. Real fantasy mailmen."
"Let's just get through it without accidentally delivering poison to someone's dinner."
The weaver's shop was tucked into the corner of a crooked alley, with dyed fabric hanging from the windows like wilted flags. A sign above the door read "Thread & Dread" in faded paint.
Inside, the smell of something musty clung to everything.
"Delivery," Matt said, placing the small wooden box on the counter.
A hunched woman emerged from behind a curtain, peering at them through round glasses that made her eyes look three times too big. She cracked the lid, peeked at the bone powder inside, then gave a satisfied grunt.
She reached under the counter, pulled out two wrapped candies, and dropped them in Dave's hand. "For the big one. He looks like he needs energy."
Dave blinked. "Uh. Thanks?"
As they left, Matt laughed. "You just got paid in candy."
"Better than a punch in the face."
The second stop was a small stone building near the well, the smell of curing hide drifting out in waves.
The leatherworker was a broad woman with arms like tree trunks. When Matt handed over the roll of treated hide, she gave it one firm nod, then turned her gaze on Dave.
"You interested in modeling?"
Dave hesitated. "Modeling… what?"
She unrolled a harness covered in pouches, straps, and a few suspicious-looking spikes. "My new line. Designed for speed and storage."
Dave held up both hands. "I'm flattered, but I bruise easy."
"Shame."
Matt nearly choked trying not to laugh.
They left the town proper and followed a narrow trail to a crooked hut that leaned sideways, like it had lost an argument with the wind. A tin bell hung from a string on the door, clinking softly even though there was no breeze.
Matt knocked.
A long pause. Then the door creaked open, revealing a man with one eye, no eyebrows, and a cloak made entirely of stitched-together bird feathers.
"You brought it," he said, voice low and dry.
Matt handed over the flask. "Silas said don't open it."
"I wouldn't," Orven said, already turning away. "Last one grew teeth."
Dave took a half step back. "Teeth?"
But the door had already shut.
They stood there for a moment in silence.
Matt finally said, "I'm starting to think we're underpaid."
Dave held up the two pieces of candy. "Speak for yourself."
The next morning, Silas slapped a bucket into Matt's hands and a fishing net into Dave's. "You've earned a break. We're going to the lake."
Dave blinked. "You fish?"
"I sit near water and pretend to fish. Big difference," Silas said.
They followed a worn trail out of town, past thin trees and quiet mossy fields. After about half an hour, the woods opened to a small lake ringed by stones. The water was still, deep blue, and strangely clear. A few other locals were already there—young men and women chatting, laughing, skipping stones.
Silas settled under a tree and pulled out a tin flask. "There. Nature. Peace. Behold."
Matt and Dave dropped their things and wandered toward the water's edge. It was the first time things had felt even slightly normal.
Then someone screamed.
A girl in a pale dress had slipped beneath the surface, her hands flailing once, then gone. For a moment, everyone froze. A few gasps, a few people backing up from the water.
Matt looked around. "Is no one going in?"
A young man shook his head. "She's gone!"
Dave's face twisted in confusion. "What are you talking about? She just went under!"
Another woman spoke, her voice low and resigned. "She drowned. It's no use. Only a healer could bring her back to life..."
Matt didn't wait. He tossed his boots aside and dove in.
The water was colder than it looked and deeper too, but he spotted her dress fluttering like fabric on a clothesline beneath the surface. He kicked hard, grabbed her arm, and pulled her up.
When he dragged her to shore, she was pale, eyes shut, chest still. Everyone stood back, some with bowed heads, others just watching.
Matt dropped to his knees and started chest compressions.
Dave stepped beside him. "You remember how to do this?"
"More or less. CPR was mandatory at my job."
A few compressions. Then breaths.
Then again.
And again.
No one else moved. Silas stood with the others, face unreadable. A murmur spread through the small crowd. Words like mad, wasting time, no healer.
Then the girl coughed.
She choked and rolled onto her side, sputtering lake water, blinking at the sky. Her hands clutched the ground. She was alive.
The crowd fell silent.
Silas was the first to speak. "...Well, I'll be damned."
A boy whispered, "He brought her back... without magic."
The girl sat up weakly, staring at Matt. "What are you?"
Matt, soaked and breathing hard, blinked at her. "Just... a guy from Earth."
Someone stepped closer, eyes wide. "He's a healer. A great one."
Matt looked at Dave.
Dave grinned. "You just became a legend, dude."
The walk back from the lake was quiet.
Matt's clothes were soaked, his boots squished with every step, and he still had lakeweed clinging to one arm. Dave had tried to lighten the mood with a joke or two, but the group trailing behind them—the once-relaxed villagers—kept their distance, whispering. Watching.
When they reached the edge of town, Silas finally spoke.
"You know," he said, voice low and thoughtful, "people are going to talk about that for years."
Matt looked over, still damp and cold. "I didn't do anything special. It's basic first aid. Anyone back home would've done the same."
Silas gave him a sideways look. "Back home, maybe. But not here."
They turned the corner onto the shop's street. A few townsfolk nodded at them. More than a few stared.
Silas unlocked the door, then paused before stepping inside.
"I've lived in this town most of my life," he said. "Seen healers come through, once or twice. They chant, they burn herbs, they wave crystals and whisper to spirits. Half of it's show, and the rest only works if the gods are paying attention."
He turned to face them.
"But you didn't ask permission from a spirit. You didn't draw symbols or say a prayer. You just knelt down and did it. You reached into death and pulled someone back."
Matt shrugged, uncomfortable. "I didn't pull anyone back. She wasn't gone long."
Silas narrowed his eyes. "That might be true. But that's not how they'll see it."
Dave leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. "You think this is going to be a problem?"
"Could be," Silas said. "Some folks are going to worship you. Some are going to want something from you. And some… might decide they don't like someone turning the world upside down."
Matt dropped into a chair. "Great. We just wanted to go camping."
Silas laughed once. "Well, now you've gone and brought someone back to life. Hard to beat that for a vacation story."
He walked behind the counter and pulled down a bottle. He poured three small glasses.
"To Matt," he said, raising his own, "accidental miracle-worker."
Dave raised his too. "To CPR."
Matt just shook his head and downed the drink.