There’s a particular kind of peace that settles over the cottage on certain mornings. The fire crackles gently. Sunlight spills through the shutters like warm honey and The goat, for once, isn’t chewing something she shouldn’t. Ren is at the table scribbling notes for a new bread recipe that includes “emotional resonance” as an ingredient, and I—dignified, death-forged, doom-infused—I am resting atop a velvet-lined shelf, swaddled in a knitted sword-scarf that says in crooked yellow thread.
That’s when he knocks.
The man is dressed like he sells questionable tinctures to widows. Tall, narrow-shouldered, with a mustache that looks like it’s legally required to twirl when he lies. He steps into our home with the breezy confidence of someone who has never been punched by a frying pan, and immediately claps his hands.
“Ah! Splendid!” he exclaims, eyes landing on me like a vulture spotting a ham. “Is that the sword?”
Ren blinks. “I—yes? I suppose so?”
“I heard rumors,” the man continues, striding forward. “They said a cursed weapon of immense power had resurfaced in this village. Naturally, I came at once.” He leans in, inspecting me like I’m produce. “Hmm. The hilt is a little chipped. But the aura is excellent. I’ll give you forty silver.”
I hum, sharp and immediate.
Ren frowns. “You… want to buy him?”
The merchant waves a gloved hand. “Buy, trade, adopt—whatever language comforts your conscience. Look, I’m in the business of rare relics. You can’t imagine what people pay for authentic enchanted armaments with mild sentience.”
Ren glances at me.
I hum again, this time in the exact key of
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The merchant seems unfazed. “I once sold a talking crossbow that only insulted people in Elvish. Went for eighty gold. This one hums. Do you know how rare humming curses are? There’s a market.”
“I’m not interested,” Ren says gently.
“Fifty silver.”
“No.”
“Sixty and a goat.”
From the corner, Mimi raises her head. Slowly. With menace.
Ren sighs. “Please leave.”
The merchant squints at me. “Fine. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“We don’t.”
“Exactly,” he says, and vanishes out the door like a magician with bad intentions and worse spatial awareness.
The cottage is quiet again.
Ren lifts me from my shelf, his hands warm. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I’d never sell you.”
My hum softens without permission.
He pauses. “Although… I wonder what you’d sell for on the open market.”
I vibrate with betrayal.
“I’m joking!” he laughs, setting me down and ruffling the scarf around my hilt. “You’re priceless. Besides, I don’t think anyone else would put up with your attitude.”
As insults go, it is possibly the kindest I’ve ever received.
That afternoon, we bake. Or rather, Ren bakes while I am propped on the counter like a passive-aggressive kitchen guardian. He talks as he works—about spices, and sourdough, and whether or not bread can be blessed accidentally if you hum during kneading. I pretend not to listen. But I do. I always do.
When the loaves are cooling and the sun is beginning to dip, Ren sets a slice on a plate beside me.
“For the record,” he says, “even if someone offered me all the gold in the kingdom, I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”
I hum—low, embarrassed—and nudge the bread slice off the plate in a dignified show of appreciation.
[Bond Strengthened: +1 Loyalty, +1 Resistance to Market Forces]
[New Trait Gained: Unsellable Relic – Immune to All Future Attempts at Trade or Auction-Based Capture]
Ren reads the notification and laughs so hard he snorts cinnamon. I hum louder, because if I’m going to be emotionally compromised, so is he.
From the windowsill, Mimi stares at us both like she’s watching a rom-com she didn’t ask for. The merchant might’ve left empty-handed, but somehow I feel like the goat is the one who just won.
The next time someone tries to put a price on me, I’ll hum a little louder.
And if they push? Maybe I’ll bite.
