Anzu watched the mercenaries settle into position.

  "I need to go shopping for mana potions. This could turn into a fight really fast."

  "I'll rest a bit more,' Itani said, already moving back toward her bed. 'My dagger needs sharpening, anyway, and I need to oil my bow."

  "Good idea."

  Anzu descended the stairs and found the innkeeper sweeping the sand brought in by the wind near the bar.

  "Excuse me, is the Cracked Vial still around? The alchemist shop?"

  The man looked up.

  "Aye. It's at the same spot as always. Just past the scribe's office, take a right turn."

  Relief washed through him, as it was his favorite alchemist's in Larsa.

  "Thanks."

  Outside, early morning foot traffic had begun filling the streets. Anzu kept his hood up and moved with purpose. Unlike yesterday when they arrived with Itani, the scribe office doors and windows stood open now, and he caught a glimpse of a young woman arranging scrolls inside before he turned right down the narrow lane.

  And there it was. The Cracked Vial, positioned exactly as he remembered.

  The building looked well-maintained, especially for having been around for so long. There was fresh paint on the shutters, and the glass of the windows was clean. It was nothing like the grimy shop in Lagash. Anzu pushed open the door.

  Shelves lined the walls, filled with labeled bottles and clay jars. The familiar scent of herbs and distilled liquids hit him. Everything was arranged just as it had been. Almost as if two centuries hadn't passed.

  Footsteps rushed from the back room.

  "Welcome, welcome! How can I help you?"

  A high elf emerged, whose face was wrinkled with age and decorated by hair gone grey. But those eyes, with a sharp and curious twinkle, suggested the same bright intelligence that Anzu remembered. It was Itarus.

  Two hundred years, and he was still here. But, sure. High elves could live up to 300 or even 350 and more years, in theory. The friendly face warmed Anzu's chest, but for now he decided not to reveal his identity just yet. It was better to test the water first.

  "I need ten mana potions," Anzu said. "They should be tier ten, though."

  Itarus stopped.

  "Tier ten?"

  "Yes."

  "Those can only be handled by a Master Sage, for which you'd need to be [Level 100]." The alchemist's expression grew cautious. "Their potency would overwhelm anyone weaker."

  "I'll be fine." Anzu reached into his inventory, withdrawing his coin pouch.

  Itarus stared at the gesture as the leathery item materialized in the extended hand. His gaze lifted to Anzu's face and immediately shifted, studying him from the side.

  "That voice..." He leaned a little closer. "Hold on a second."

  Anzu said nothing, but suspected that he had been recognized. He could have prevented this, but didn't really want to in this case.

  Joy spread across the old elf's features.

  "By the gods... Anzu, is that you?"

  A smile tugged at Anzu's lips.

  "Hey, Itarus. It's been ages."

  "Ages? Ages?" Itarus moved as if to embrace him, then caught himself, hands raised halfway. "You're... you're actually here! Everyone, including myself, thought that you had..."

  "Keep your voice down." Anzu glanced toward the door, but the street outside was empty, and there were no other customers in the shop. "I don't want anyone recognizing me just yet."

  As Itarus pressed a hand to his mouth, his eyes glistening.

  "Of course, of course." He lowered his voice to an excited whisper. "But you're really back? After all this time?"

  "It seems that way."

  "But your tower, and the fraud in it. Do you know about that?"

  "I know." Anzu's expression hardened. "That's being dealt with. Soon. In fact, this is why I'm here."

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  "Good. Good." Itarus shook his head, still staring as if Anzu might vanish. "He's been bleeding this city dry. Selling fake blessings, making promises... the gall of that one."

  "Yeah, I saw the stage. I was there yesterday."

  "It's worse than you think." The alchemist moved behind his counter, hands already reaching for bottles on the upper shelf. "He's convinced half the city he's you. The other half suspects but doesn't dare say anything."

  "Why not? He's not even [Level 100]."

  "Did you see those mercenaries arrive at the tower this morning?" Itarus set the first mana potion down carefully as the deep blue liquid swirled inside. "They started showing up a few months ago. Anyone who questioned the Hero too loudly... simply disappeared."

  Anzu's jaw tightened.

  "Damn it. How many?"

  "Two that I know of. But probably more." Another bottle joined the first. "The fake keeps saying he'd never let harm come to Larsa. That he's watching over everyone." Itarus's voice turned bitter. "People want to believe it so badly they ignore what's right in front of them."

  The tenth bottle clinked onto the counter.

  "There." Itarus looked up. "Tier ten mana potions. Thirty silver each. But for you..."

  "No, don't be ridiculous. I'll pay the full price," Anzu said quietly. "You've kept this place running all this time. And I need you to keep it open." Anzu smiled.

  Itarus counted the silver, then paused.

  "Good point. Business has been slow lately. The golden age of Sages has been over for a while. Most have gone into hiding or fled north."

  "Let me guess. Because of the Mardukists?" Anzu speculated.

  "You know about them?"

  "Ha, I've met them in person." Anzu gestured vaguely. "In Lagash."

  Itarus winced.

  "Then you understand. They've been on the hunt for ritualism practitioners. Nobody really knows why. We don't even know if there are any ritualists around nowadays. But that doesn't stop them from detaining random Sages anyway.' He shook his head. 'The few Sages that are left barely practice openly anymore. My sales of high-tier potions have dropped to almost nothing."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "Don't be. I'm just glad you're back. It could be a good omen." The alchemist's expression darkened. "That fraud at your tower, though... I've been disgusted this whole year. Watching him parade around in cheap imitation robes, selling false hope..." His hands clenched on the counter. "People needed a hero, and he gave them a lie."

  "Not for much longer."

  "Good." Itarus met his eyes. "But the Mardukists, they're not just in Lagash. They've spread to Nippur, Uruk, and Akkad. If they learn you're here, practicing ritualism..."

  "I know the risks." Anzu pocketed the potions one by one, feeling their weight settle into his inventory. "We'll need to continue the discussion later. I need to get to the tower to get my home back."

  Understanding crossed Itarus's face.

  "Of course. Forgive me. You've got a pretender to deal with."

  Anzu turned toward the door, then stopped.

  "Thanks for the warning, though. And for keeping this place running. The latter, especially."

  "Wait." Itarus ducked beneath the counter, rummaging through open crates. "Before you go, I still carry what you used to order back in the day."

  He emerged with a small wooden case, opening it to reveal three vials. The liquid inside shimmered with an almost metallic sheen that was deeper and richer than the standard potions.

  "Spiked potions," Itarus indicated. "They've got the same level requirement, but are enhanced. You'll have better mana restoration and faster absorption. I keep a few in stock for... well, for customers who used to exist." He gave a sad smile. "I thought you might want them. Given what you're walking into."

  Anzu examined the vials. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Even the glass vials had special decoration on them, even though that was something that got discarded. They were identical to those he bought from him back in the day.

  "How much?"

  "Forty each. But they'll restore nearly fifty percent more than standard tier tens."

  These were worth every silver. Anzu withdrew the coins without hesitation.

  "I'll take all three."

  Itani waited outside the tavern, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She straightened when Anzu approached.

  "Did you get them?"

  "Yup. Ten standard ones and three spiked." Anzu patted his belt where a few of the potions sat in their slots, ready to be consumed quickly in battle if needed. "They should last me for a while."

  They fell into step together, heading toward the tower. The morning sun had climbed higher by now, casting long shadows across the packed dirt streets. Already, Anzu could hear voices ahead, comprising of excited chatter and nervous laughter, which one would expect from the type of crowd gathering there.

  "I also ran into an old friend," Anzu said.

  Itani's eyebrows lifted.

  "Oh, really? He's still here after all that time?"

  "Yeah, it's the alchemist. He's a high elf."

  Understanding flickered across her face.

  "He recognized me right away." Anzu kept his voice low as they walked. "He told me about the mercenaries we saw earlier. And about people who questioned the fraud too loudly."

  Itani raised her eyebrows.

  "They went missing shortly after."

  "This is going to get ugly, isn't it?" Itani's hand drifted toward her bow.

  "Very likely."

  As they emerged from behind the final corner, Anzu's tower came into view. The crude wooden stage still blocked the entrance, and the space teemed with people again. Dozens of citizens packed the area with their faces turned toward the platform where the fake Hero stood in his badly sewn robes. His arms were spread wide as if addressing a congregation.

  Behind him, arrayed in a semicircle, a dozen Elamite mercenaries stood at attention. Their bronze, spiky armor gleamed, and every one of them held their weapons with the casual readiness of professionals.

  The fake's voice carried over the crowd.

  "... and so I tell you again, good people of Larsa, that your faith sustains this city's protection! Your devotion keeps the darkness at bay!"

  Anzu pushed forward through the crowd. People shifted, creating a path, and whispers followed in his wake.

  The fake's gaze snapped to him. A smile spread across his face, but not a pleasant one. It was more predatory, triumphant.

  "Ah, here we go." His voice rang out clearly. "The supposed defender of the people."

  The crowd reformed around Anzu, creating a circle. All eyes were fixed on him.

  Anzu kept his tone measured.

  "I really just want answers. For the people."

  The fake's expression shifted as irritation replaced the previous false warmth. He turned to the crowd, gesturing dramatically toward Anzu.

  "Do you see? All this Sage wants is for the indulgences to stop. And with that, the protection Larsa enjoys will vanish as well. Is that what you want? To be left defenseless against the darkness pressing in from all sides?"

  Murmurs rippled through the gathered citizens. Some faces turned doubtful, glancing between Anzu and the stage.

  "You're a demagogue," Anzu said. "All you do is twist my words."

  The fake threw up his hands.

  "You know what? I've had just about enough of this."

  "Yes." Anzu's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "So have I."

  He snapped his fingers.