Golden Path

3. Adventurers

It had been several days since Korin and Sutekh arrived in the Kingdom of Nefris, and life in the small desert kingdom had become more familiar to them. Sutekh's home, once filled with solitude, now brimmed with life and conversation, thanks to Korin’s presence. Korin had quickly settled in, bringing a lighthearted energy that had been missing from Sutekh's life. Though Sutekh was grateful for the company, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Korin than what met the eye.

On one particular afternoon, the two decided to explore the city. The markets were lively, and Korin had started to become somewhat known among the locals. As they wandered through the narrow, bustling streets, Korin’s keen sense of awareness led him toward a small, weathered building nestled in the corner of the market square. The store looked older than the surrounding shops, its wood worn and faded from years under the desert sun.

Sutekh noticed Korin’s gaze and spoke up. “Ah, that place. It’s owned by a desert elf named Jorun. He’s one of the oldest residents in Nefris… been around since before this place was even a kingdom. Desert elves are a bit different from regular elves. They’ve got shorter ears, and their skin’s more resilient to the harsh sun. Jorun’s around 207 years old now, still going strong.”

Korin’s curiosity piqued. "207 years, huh? Must have some interesting stories," he said, turning toward the shop. "I think I’ll go in and see what he’s selling. You want to come?"
Sutekh shook his head. “I’ve been in there plenty of times. I’ll walk around the square and meet you back here when you’re done."

Korin nodded and pushed open the creaky door, stepping into the dimly lit shop. The interior was cluttered with shelves overflowing with ancient artifacts, dusty scrolls, and trinkets from ages long past. It had the unmistakable smell of old parchment mixed with the dry air of the desert.

“Ah, a customer!” a cheerful voice called out. From behind the counter emerged a small, elderly figure with the characteristic features of a desert elf. His wrinkled face was framed by graying hair, and his sharp amber eyes gleamed with a welcoming warmth. “It’s been fifteen years since someone’s set foot in here. Please, look around, take your time.”

Korin smiled politely and began perusing the shop’s items. As he moved along the shelves, his fingers brushed over ancient relics and scrolls, each one radiating with a history long forgotten by most. His interest was piqued by the collection of spellbooks, many of which contained symbols and languages he couldn’t recognize.

After a few moments, Jorun walked over to Korin, sensing his intrigue. “These spells,” Jorun began, “are relics of an age long gone. Few today can read them. They’re from a time when magic was... purer, more direct.”

Korin turned to face the old man, feeling the weight of history in his words. But before he could respond, Jorun’s hand rested gently on Korin’s shoulder. For a brief moment, the old elf froze, his eyes widening in shock as if he had seen something long forgotten. His mind raced, and a single word slipped from his thoughts before he could contain it.

“Midas...?”

Korin immediately sensed the change in Jorun’s demeanor and frowned. "What did you just say?"

Jorun quickly composed himself, though the surprise had not fully faded from his face. “Ah, nothing, my boy,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just an old elf's mind playing tricks on him. I felt... something familiar when I touched you, something from a time long ago. It’s nothing to worry about, just... a bit of nostalgia, I suppose.”

But Korin wasn’t convinced. He could feel the unease in Jorun’s voice, and the name "Midas" echoed in his mind. Who or what was Midas, and why had Jorun reacted so strongly? Before he could press further, Jorun offered a smile and gestured to the shelves.