VISION ✔️ || The Keepers of Astraela #1

16.0 || Of Visionaries and Drunken Gnomes

MYSTIA

THE END OF THE WORLD brought many things: Chaos. Ruin. Corruption.

And it was fantastic for business.

The Elysian Lily had never been livelier, bustling with a seemingly-infinite stream of Astraelans in pursuit of an evening drink... or a morning one. Or mid-afternoon.

It wasn't an unwelcome sight. Their enthusiasm certainly allowed them to unload their pockets in such hard times, but they wouldn't have money for much longer if they didn't return to work in the outside world.

Mystia Grievland twirled and tossed bottles of the tavern's finest Nectar in an enthralling display for the intoxicated fellows gathered 'round the bar. Chestnut braids whipped her neck as she spun in a flourish, much to the pleasure of the gnome trio sitting on the edges of their stools. Animalistic lust twisted their expressions into ones of ravenous greed. She grinned at them, feigning blissful unawareness of the thoughts brewed inside their dirty little minds.

But she was more than aware.

She removed her eyes from them to sustain the act of naivety, but one gaze out at the rest of her establishment nearly made her well-practiced smile falter. The patrons had been clustered inside for an unreasonable amount of time, and their boisterous ruckus had grown to such a volume that she longed to rip off one of her curled horns and drive it through her skull.

Surely, it had carried on longer than her average shifts... but how long had it really been?

Hours? Days?

If only the sun shone for more than a few hours every couple of afternoons—then she may have been a better judge of how much longer it would be before she could shove everyone out the door and bolt it shut behind them.

"Mystia! Who ordered a round of Angel Tonics?"

She jumped when a lanky figure slammed into her, nearly making her trip over her own hooves. Whirling around, she caught the wide-eyed stare of the moon elf who had just finished concocting his beverages not five feet to her left.

The boy—who looked too young to even consume the teal-colored drinks on his tray—gave her an apologetic smile. While she was immune to Vesryn's infectious innocence, they were on the clock. She could do nothing but return the kind expression, even once her eyes returned to the highball glasses he carried.

Angel Tonics held the brightest glow of any Nectar she offered, but the ones on his serving tray could have replaced the Guild's beacons with their artificial light. He had used too much Starblossom syrup again.

She repressed a sigh. "The two witches. Last booth on the right."

With a curt nod, he zipped away as fast as his skinny legs could carry him, weaving between customers in clumsy bounds.

Not that the crowds made it easy on the poor kid.

An ever-present haze hung over the room from the cigarettes in their mouths, blurring Mystia's vision at the edges. The enchanted herbs within each roll provided their own benefit, fusing in the stale air until an overwhelming combination of emotions fired off at once in her patrons' brains. If it hadn't been for the protection charms she had concealed in her thigh holster, the aroma alone would've kept her from functioning enough to keep her business afloat.

The moon elf shuffled his way past tables with the tray on his palm, not even missing a beat when passing their heaviest smokers: a gang of feisty wood nymphs who practically owned the half-booth on the far right. But when he shuffled by their table, he made the mistake of sneaking a glance at their delicate features, twisted with intoxicated glee.