Felix Mavis rolled up the sleeves of his light linen robe, tied back his brown hair, and sat down at his narrow wooden worktable. It was a modest setup—nothing grand. The talisman shop was tucked away in an alley off Market Street, squeezed between a laundry stall and a lamp repair shop. But it was his space. It was peaceful.
The table creaked slightly as he leaned forward. A blank talisman paper—soft yellow and finely woven—rested flat on the surface. To the left sat an inkwell filled with a rich red mixture of fox blood, crushed fire blossom, and a touch of iron shavings. It had taken him three days to perfect that batch.
He dipped his brush with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it hundreds of times.
"Five hours," he muttered. "No distractions."
The brush hovered above the paper. Then, with a breath, he began.
It was nearly midmorning. The light from the open window danced across his workspace. His fingers moved with slow precision, tracing curved lines, then cutting across with rigid, controlled symbols. Every movement mattered. The Fireball Talisman was deceptively simple in concept—but unstable if rushed. One misdrawn sigil and the entire thing might erupt.
Felix was twenty-five now. He'd been making talismans for over a decade—longer if he counted the clumsy attempts as a child under Grandfather Noel's watchful eye. He had long mastered the basic types: warmth wards, pest control charms, and minor barrier seals. But the Fireball Talisman… that was different. It wasn't "basic" to most. But to Felix, it had become his signature.
Still took five hours, though.
"Felix! You in there?" a voice called from outside the curtain-covered entrance.
He froze mid-stroke and frowned. "I said no distractions."
"I brought you breakfast," the voice replied.
He sighed and set the brush down carefully, letting it rest on the ceramic holder. Rising from the stool, he pulled the curtain aside.
A girl stood outside holding a bowl of rice and egg wrapped in steamed leaves. Freckles, copper-colored eyes, and a bright smile.
"Rin," he said. "You shouldn't interrupt during a Fireball inscription."
She handed him the bowl anyway. "You'll faint again if you forget to eat. Remember last week?"
"That was one time."
"That was three times."
Felix took the bowl with a soft grunt. "I should start locking this curtain."
"Go ahead," Rin said cheerfully. "I'll just pick it open again. That old latch doesn't scare me."
He chuckled despite himself and sat on the small bench just outside his door. The alley was quiet enough—just the sound of distant merchants and the rustle of wind brushing against the canvas roofs.
Rin sat beside him. "Still working on the custom talisman for Master Harven?"
Felix nodded. "He wants a version with a delayed trigger. I've made six failures already."
"You'll figure it out. You always do." She poked him in the side. "You're the best talisman craftsman in this alley. Possibly in this whole quarter."
"That's because there are only two of us."
"Still counts."
Felix chewed on the rice slowly. "I don't mind the slowness. Honestly, I prefer it. After the war, this pace is... good."
Rin grew quiet. "Have the dreams stopped?"
"No," Felix said, not looking at her. "But they're softer now. Like distant thunder."
He returned to his desk an hour later, refreshed and focused.
The Fireball Talisman wasn't just about power. It was about balance. It had three key layers: the ignition core, the expansion glyphs, and the heat boundary. Felix knew each one by heart.
As his brush moved, he thought of Grandfather Noel.
"No shortcuts, Felix," Noel had said once, when he was barely nine years old. "Talismanry is like conversation. You have to speak clearly to the spirit ink."
Back then, Felix didn't understand what that meant. Now, he did. He had made over two hundred Fireball Talismans during the war. On the battlefield, they were in high demand.
He didn't carry a sword. He didn't command troops. But the soldiers respected him more than most officers. His talismans had lit trenches, held off beasts, stopped ambushes. Many were still alive today because of the precision and reliability of his work.
Some called him the "Ghost Ink Scholar" behind his back. Others simply said, "Get Mavis's seal if you want to live through the night."
"Just one more mark... steady…"
The brushtip glided across the final glyph. A faint warmth pulsed beneath his fingers. The ink shimmered briefly, then settled. He exhaled slowly and leaned back.
It was done.
A perfect Fireball Talisman.
The curtain rustled again. This time, it wasn't Rin.
An older man entered, his face shadowed under a wide-brimmed hat. His armor was travel-worn but well-maintained—steel buckles, leather straps, and a faint scent of dried mud.
"Are you Felix Mavis?" the man asked.
"I am," Felix said cautiously, standing up and setting the talisman aside. "You're not from around here."
"I'm Captain Berrin. Draft Officer from the Southern Garrison."
Felix's posture tensed. "I already served."
"I know," Berrin said. "And your name still echoes down our barracks."
That caught Felix off-guard. He blinked. "Really?"
"You saved my sergeant. He told me, even while bleeding out, 'Don't let this man go forgotten.'"
Felix looked away. "I was just doing my work."
"You did more than that." Berrin reached into a side pouch and pulled out a small leather scroll and a coin-pouch tied with a red ribbon.
He placed them on the desk with a heavy thump. "By order of the Southern Command, and with approval from the regional council, Felix Mavis is hereby granted a plot of land on the outskirts of Eastwell Town. Five acres, yours to do with as you see fit. And one-hundred gold for distinguished service."
Felix stared at the scroll. He didn't speak for a long moment.
"I didn't ask for this," he said softly.
"You didn't have to. The war ended because of men like you. Quiet men who held the lines with paper and ash when the blades failed."
Felix reached for the scroll but paused. "Why now?"
"Some of the soldiers banded together. Pushed for it. Said if you weren't going to ask for recognition, someone else should."
Felix took the scroll carefully and nodded, silent.
Berrin coughed lightly. "That's not all. I also need talismans. Five. Fireball. Delayed trigger. We leave tomorrow."
"I can give you two by evening," Felix said, refocusing. "No faster."
"Two will do."
Berrin tossed another coin pouch onto the table. "No haggling. You're worth it."
He turned to leave but paused at the curtain. "You may not realize this, Mavis, but every soldier that crossed your path walked away with one thing—hope. That's rare in war."
Then he was gone.
Felix stood for a while in silence, one hand resting on the coin pouch, the other on the scroll. The shop felt heavier now—like history was clinging to the walls.
He sat down slowly and whispered to himself, "Still took five hours…"
But his lips curled slightly at the edge.
By sunset, he was sketching the first of the delay-triggered talismans. It required a slight change to the ignition glyph and an added counter-rune that would delay the burst.
"I need to increase the heat retention slightly," he muttered to himself, "or it'll fizzle before the five seconds are up…"
He adjusted the ink mixture, added a drop of basilisk scale powder for stability, and began again.
His fingers moved with confidence, his posture relaxed but focused. He wasn't just following a method—he was perfecting it.
At midnight, he sat back, two completed talismans in front of him. Perfect.
The next morning, Rin arrived with tea and flatbread.
"You look like you haven't slept."
"I haven't," Felix said, eyes still focused on the last drying talisman.
"Worth it?"
"They'll survive Wildroot Pass if they use these right. That's worth it."
She leaned against the doorframe and eyed the scroll still open on his shelf. "Is it true? They gave you land?"
"Five acres," Felix replied. "And a hundred gold."
Rin whistled. "You could start a whole talisman estate with that."
"I could," he admitted. "But I think I'll stay in this alley a little longer."
She smiled warmly. "Good. I like having the Ghost Ink Scholar next door."