Cassian was lying in the only bed in Nolan’s house.
Eyes open. Staring at the wooden ceiling.
I can’t sleep.
Normal. She had never slept here before. The smell was different—damp wood, hay, something moldy she couldn’t identify. The sounds too—the constant creaking of the roof under the rain, the wind whistling through cracks in the walls, the noise of drops smashing against the tiles above her.
I’m not used to it.
Nolan had left an hour ago, saying he still had deliveries to make for the day despite the awful weather.
“Rest,” he had said while putting on a thick coat. “You need to recover. I’ll be back later.”
He had hesitated at the door, looking at her with concern.
“If you need anything… there’s bread in the basket near the fireplace. And water in the jug.”
“Okay,” Cassian had answered weakly.
Then he stepped out into the pounding rain, pulling his reluctant horse that neighed in protest.
Cassian stayed lying down for another ten minutes after he left.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Listening to the rain. The wind. The heavy silence of the empty house.
This is useless.
She got out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold floorboards.
If I can’t sleep, I might as well do something.
Outside, the rain was falling with almost supernatural violence.
Torrents of water crashed down on the town as if the sky had decided to drown the entire world.
But not on Cassian.
She walked calmly through the streets, the rain sliding around her as if she didn’t exist, not even splashing her when the drops hit the ground at her feet.
The streets were almost deserted.
A few rare people outside—a merchant hurriedly closing his wooden shutters, cursing the weather. A woman running toward her house with a basket on her head, her soaked skirts slapping against her legs. A child looking out a window, nose pressed against the fogged glass.
The wind was truly fierce, howling between the buildings like an enraged beast hunting its prey.
Hanging signs swung violently, some nearly tearing their chains off.
Cassian’s hair flew behind her, completely at the mercy of the gusts, floating and swirling like a golden banner in the storm.
The rain…
Every drop that passed near her—even the ones she automatically diverted with her magic—transmitted information to her.
It was subtle. Almost imperceptible at first.
But now that she was paying attention…
It was as if the rain had become an extension of her consciousness.
For about two hundred meters around her, she was vaguely aware of everything.
People. Buildings. Abandoned carts in the alleys. Horses in stables. Dogs sheltered under porches.
I can… sense their presence.
Beyond two hundred meters, it became blurry, indistinct, like trying to see through thick fog.
There’s a lot of information.
Too much, normally. It should have been overwhelming, suffocating, like having a thousand simultaneous conversations in her head.
But strangely, she was unconsciously sorting it—keeping only the important information, filtering out the background noise, ignoring irrelevant details.
How am I doing that exactly?
She wasn’t consciously controlling the process. It was automatic. Instinctive.
And if she focused on something specific—a particular building, a person—she instantly received more details.
Interesting. Very interesting.
She kept walking, experimenting with this perception.
Cassian noticed that the insides of the buildings were lit despite the gray, dark day.
Candles. Lanterns. Fires lit to fight the dampness and cold.
Then she saw a sign that caught her attention.
A pair of scissors carved in metal, hanging from a chain that swung violently in the wind, creaking with every movement.
A tailor?
She approached the shop window, peering inside through the rain-fogged glass.
A man—maybe in his forties, neatly trimmed graying beard, glasses perched on the tip of his nose—was busy working at a large wooden table, sewing something with intense concentration.
Rolls of fabric were stacked on shelves. Mannequins wore half-finished garments. Threads of every color hung from a wall organizer.
A clothing shop.
Cassian lowered her head to look at herself.
She couldn’t see the lower half of her body—her chest completely blocked the view—but she could at least see her oversized black outfit that had definitely seen better days.
Still the same one. For months. Since I arrived in this body.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
She lifted her head toward the window, observing the clean, well-made clothes inside.
Sighed deeply.
“It’s time to confirm once and for all whether the world is conspiring against me.”
The last few times she had tried to enter a place like this, something had come along to ruin everything.
If these were coincidences… I’ll know now.
If something happens again…
Then it’s confirmed. The world personally hates me.
With every step toward the door, Cassian felt the tension rise in her shoulders.
Go on. It’s just a door. A normal door.
Nothing is going to happen.
Nothing.
The man inside the shop looked up from his work, saw a customer approaching despite the torrential rain.
His face brightened. He waved friendly, smiling broadly.
Customers are rare in this weather, he probably thought.
Cassian reached the wrought-iron handle.
Stopped.
Looked left down the street.
Nothing. No one.
Looked right.
Nothing either. Just the rain.
Okay. Okay. It’s going to be fine.
She took a deep breath.
Grabbed the handle firmly.
Opened the door slowly.
The bell above tinkled cheerfully.
Took one step inside.
Then a second.
The door closed behind her.
I did it. I REALLY DID IT.
I’m INSIDE a clothing shop.
For the first time in this world!
The man approached quickly, wiping his hands on his apron, surprise visible on his face.
“Oh! An elf!” His eyes widened behind his glasses. “I’ve never seen one in person! It’s an honor! Welcome, welcome to my humble shop!”
He bowed slightly, a gesture he had probably learned for noble clients.
“Master tailor for twenty years. What are you looking for today, noble lady? We have quality fabrics, imported from…”
He didn’t have time to finish his sentence.
CRASH.
The right-hand display window exploded in a shower of glass.
A man in a mask—a ridiculously small mask that barely covered his nose, leaving half his face completely visible—leapt through the glass debris like a failed acrobat.
He landed awkwardly, stumbled, caught himself against a shelf.
“NOBODY MOVE!” he shouted in a high-pitched, stressed voice. “THIS IS A ROBBERY!”
He was sweating profusely. His hands shook as he held a dull kitchen knife.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
A second man suddenly descended the stairs leading from the upper floor—measured, elegant steps, almost like a dance.
He wore a decorative rapier at his belt, immaculate white gloves despite the rain, and an elegant black velvet mask embroidered with gold.
His clothes—though dirty and worn—were clearly once of high quality.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, observing the scene with polite surprise.
“Ah.” His voice was cultured, aristocratic. “It seems someone else had the same idea as me. What an unfortunate coincidence.”
CRASH.
A third man literally rolled through the front door—young, maybe eighteen, a confident smile plastered on his completely uncovered face.
He rose in one fluid motion, dusting off his clothes with a theatrical gesture.
“HAHA! The loot is mine!” He pointed toward the shelves. “Everything here belongs to me now!”
Silence.
The three thieves looked at each other.
Then at the owner.
Then at Cassian.
Then at each other again.
“You… you’re robbing this shop too?” asked the man in the elegant mask, slightly offended.
“Looks like it!” The barefaced young one burst out laughing.
The man in the tiny mask wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
“I… I’m really sorry,” he said to the owner, his voice cracking slightly. “Really. So sorry. But my daughter… she wants a dress. For her birthday. I saw the price in your window last week.”
He laughed bitterly.
“I saw my money. I saw the price. I did the math. Impossible. So…”
He raised his pathetic dull knife.
“I chose crime. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The elegant man sighed dramatically, adjusting his white gloves with a precise gesture.
“My story is different but equally tragic, I’m afraid. Fallen family, you see. House Limolenet. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
No one answered.
“No? Shame. We were important once. Lands. Titles. Wealth. All lost in the scandal five years ago.”
He walked to a shelf, examining fabrics as if he were shopping normally.
“Now I have no money. But I refuse—I categorically REFUSE—to wear peasant clothes. It would be an insult to my ancestors. To my name. To everything I represent.”
He picked up a pair of dark blue silk trousers, holding them against himself to judge the size.
“These seem suitable. May I try them on? Is there a changing area?”
The barefaced young one watched them with a mix of amusement and contempt.
“You two are ridiculous! So ridiculous!”
He thumped his chest proudly.
“You apologize? You justify? Ridiculous! The strong take. The weak buy. That’s the law of this world. The real law.”
He pointed at the other two thieves.
“Join me! Together we can rob the whole town! Become rich! Powerful!”
He spread his arms theatrically.
“Imagine! A thieves’ guild! With me as leader!”
Cassian’s gaze was completely blank.
She ignored them all, turning toward the owner who stood frozen in place, his face having gone through several shades of paleness.
“I would like clothes that fit,” she said calmly, as if nothing was happening.
The owner stared at her, mouth open, clearly unable to comprehend how she could be so calm.
Outside, two figures appeared in the rain.
Two adventurers—swords drawn, gleaming faintly under the gray light—facing each other in the middle of the street like duelists in an invisible arena.
Their capes snapped dramatically in the wind.
“At last,” said the first. “The moment has come, Benson.”
“Indeed, Anslo,” replied the second. “It’s time to settle this once and for all.”
“To find out who is the stronger.”
“Who is the true master of the sword.”
They struck dramatic poses.
CRACK.
Lightning struck at the exact moment they raised their blades.
Illuminating the scene like an epic painting.
They charged.
Became blurs.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
The blades clashed at a speed impossible to follow with the naked eye—dozens of strikes in mere seconds, creating sparks that shone in the rain.
Then Anslo pivoted, using the force of a blow to propel Benson.
CRASH.
Benson was hurled sideways.
Directly through the shop’s second display window.
He crashed through the store like a human cannonball, knocking over entire shelves, mannequins, a table covered in precious fabrics.
The fight continued instantly inside—the two adventurers leaping everywhere, their blades tracing luminous arcs, destroying everything in their path.
A mannequin lost its head.
A shelf collapsed.
Rolls of fabric unrolled everywhere.
Then, as suddenly as they had entered, they exited through the main door, fighting farther down the street.
Leaving absolute chaos behind.
Rain now poured freely through the completely shattered windows.
Soaking the displayed clothes. The wooden floor. The precious fabrics. Everything.
Puddles formed quickly.
The wind blew inside, sending threads and scraps of fabric flying like feathers.
Cassian turned back to the owner, determined.
“Clothes,” she repeated patiently. “For me. An elf. I need something fitted. With room for…” She gestured vaguely toward her chest.
The man was trembling now, sitting on the floor against a wall, staring into space with a traumatized look.
His mouth moved but no sound came out.
Meanwhile, the three thieves were taking advantage of the chaos.
The man in the tiny mask clumsily stuffed a pink dress into a large canvas bag, still apologizing under his breath.
“Sorry, sorry, so sorry…”
The elegant man had found the changing area—a curtain in the corner—and was methodically trying on different trousers, evaluating each one in a mirror.
“These accentuate my legs. But the color…”
The barefaced young one was filling an entire cart, throwing in whatever he could without discrimination.
“Everything is mine! EVERYTHING!”
Heavy footsteps sounded outside.
A noble entered—sumptuous clothes despite the rain, cane with a golden knob, permanent look of disgust on his round face.
He stopped just past the threshold, surveying the scene of destruction.
“What the…?”
His gaze swept over the shattered windows. The rain pouring in freely. The thieves in full action.
Then his eyes fixed on the prices still visible on a few tags.
They widened.
His face turned red.
“YOU DARE?!” he roared, his voice echoing through the entire shop.
He pointed a trembling accusatory finger at the owner.
“These prices! These prices are OFFENSIVE! Scandalous! Shameful!”
“But sir, I…” The man tried weakly to reply.
“SILENCE!” The noble struck the floor with his cane. “These prices constitute illegal speculation in times of crisis! The rain! The storm! And you dare raise your prices?!”
“I didn’t raise anything, I…”
“LIES!” The noble pulled an official seal from his pocket. “By the authority vested in me, I order the immediate closure of this establishment!”
He slammed the seal onto what remained of the door frame with excessive force.
“Full tax audit! Verification of all your accounts! Inspection of all your merchandise!”
The owner turned white as a sheet.
“But… I… my family…”
“Fine of Fifteen thousand gold pieces,” the noble continued mercilessly. “Payable immediately. You have three days.”
“Fifteen thousand… I don’t have… I can’t…”
“Then you are ruined.” The noble turned toward the door with a satisfied smile. “Good day, ex-merchant.”
He left, his cane clacking on the wet cobblestones, leaving a trail of rainwater behind him.
The owner was no longer moving at all now.
Sitting against the wall, eyes vacant, mouth slightly open.
Shocked beyond words.
Cassian approached once more.
Knelt in front of him to be at eye level.
“Please,” she said softly but firmly. “I know you’re going through… a difficult moment. But I really need clothes. Fitted for an elf. With…”
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Several lightning bolts struck through the already damaged roof.
Hitting exactly every shelf. Every pile of clothes. Every roll of fabric.
Flames exploded instantly everywhere.
“NO! FUCKING NO!”
Cassian leapt to her feet, panicked.
Raised her hands.
Water burst from her palms—massive torrents, flooding the entire shop, turning the floor into a river.
She aimed at the flames.
The water touched them.
They didn’t go out.
HOW?! THIS IS WATER! WATER EXTINGUISHES FIRE!
IT’S A FUNDAMENTAL LAW!
The flames burned hotter.
They devoured everything.
The dresses. The trousers. The shirts. The precious fabrics imported from afar.
Cassian tried again. More water. More pressure.
Nothing worked.
The three thieves—seeing the uncontrollable flames—fled hurriedly with what they had already managed to steal.
The man in the tiny mask ran out the door, bag over his shoulder.
“Sorry! Really sorry!”
The elegant man calmly exited through the broken window, carrying three neatly folded trousers under his arm.
“Shame about your shop. Truly.”
The barefaced young one pushed his overflowing cart, laughing.
“Farewell!”
Cassian stayed.
Trying desperately.
Failing completely.
In the end—five minutes of absolute chaos later—no garment remained intact.
Just smoking ashes. Charred scraps of fabric. Melted mannequins.
The floor was covered in a disgusting black mud of dirty water and ashes.
Cassian was alone with the owner.
He sat in a puddle, staring at the ruins of his business.
Of his life.
The world is conspiring against me.
Officially confirmed.
Documented.
Proven beyond any reasonable doubt.
She walked toward what remained of the door, stepping through the ash mud.
Without looking back.
His problems are not my problems.
I have enough of my own.
Outside, under the now even more violent pounding rain, Cassian stopped in the middle of the street.
She slowly raised both hands toward the gray, furious sky.
Crossed both middle fingers.
The universal gesture of insult.
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! YOU HEAR ME?! SHITTY WORLD! FUCK YOU AND YOUR SHITTY COINCIDENCES!”
CRACK.
Lightning fell.
A pillar of blinding white light, accompanied by thunder that shook every building on the street.
It struck exactly three centimeters from her.
The ground exploded.
Cobblestones flew in every direction.
A red-hot mark appeared—a perfect circle about one meter in diameter, smoking, the stone almost melted into glass.
Cassian very slowly lowered her hands.
The tips of her hair were lightly smoking.
Silence fell over the street.
“…Again,” Cassian said in a perfectly calm voice.
“Do it again.”
A distant rumble answered.
A smile spread across her lips.
“OHHH it’s getting hot! That’s all you got?”
She took a step to the side.
“Wait, let me reposition. That was poorly aimed.”
Achievement Unlocked: “Official Lightning Rod.”
Cause of death: Persistent arrogance.
Survival time after provocation: 3.4 seconds.
New Skin Unlocked: Overcooked Elf.
