Chapter 9: Encounters and Unease

I gently place the ring on the table, a small smile forming despite the mild disappointment. The energy losses aren't ideal, but I have to admit, this is a tangible step forward. Besides, it's bound to get easier the more I practice. The important thing is, I've proven storing mana in an object is possible, and if I can do it once, I can do it again.I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the next round of ring enchantments. Five rings—that's the goal for today, each one a little more perfect than the last. With one down, I've got four more to go.Another sip of coffee—still bitter, but at least it's cold. This next ring is a little more intricate than the last, with a finer, woven band and a small translucent blue gem set into it. Well—I say gem, but it's really just a cheap piece of glass.I hold the ring between my fingers, focusing on the flow of mana. Slowly, I begin the process of passing energy through the ring, this time with even more intent. It takes longer than the first ring did, but I manage to lose less mana with each pass, meaning this ring should be even more refined than the first one.One way to find out—I carefully release the smallest trickle of mana I can manage, slowly filling the minuscule reservoir of this ring. I watch carefully for any signs of leaks, and as soon as I notice one begin, I cut the flow entirely. This time, I can feel it—even without absorbing the energy back to check, I know this was another success."Two down, and three to go," I mutter to myself.Hours pass as the morning light grows brighter, finally making its way into the living room from my kitchen window. Before I know it, I'm done. A neat arrangement of five completed rings sits dazzlingly on the coffee table in front of me. Perhaps it's just my imagination, but even without any other "spell" written onto them, the mana in the rings seems to cause them to shine more brightly.I lean back on the couch, stretching as I glance toward the clock—7:00 AM. Normally, that's when my workday would be starting, but here I am, playing hooky. My core feels exhausted, but it's a good kind of exhaustion. The kind that comes with a hard day's work, with something to actually show for it. I glance at the rings gleaming on the table, but in my mind, they shimmer with more than just polished silver—they glint with the promise of something bigger, something... lucrative.Just as I'm about to grab some breakfast, my phone starts to ring. I glance down at the screen—an unfamiliar number. I hesitate for a moment, but wondering if it's work-related, I answer."Hello?""Hey, Nathan. It's Greg."Greg? The flea market guy from yesterday? I rub my eyes, trying to push away the last remnants of sleep. We'd chatted a bit—mostly about random junk he had for sale, nothing serious. Honestly, I'd forgotten he even asked for my number. "What's up, man?" I ask, stifling a yawn."Hey, listen," Greg says, his voice carrying that awkward, please-don't-hang-up-on-me tone. "I know we just met, but I've got a situation. My truck broke down on the side of the road, and I'm kinda stuck with this delivery. I remember you mentioned you had a truck... Any chance you could help me out? I was supposed to deliver this antique dresser to a client this morning, and I promised I'd get it there on time."I raise an eyebrow. "A dresser delivery? Didn't know flea market vendors did deliveries."Greg chuckles nervously. "Yeah, well... money talks, right? I'd planned on getting it towed, but I'd rather not deal with the hassle if I don't have to. I could really use your help."He must have gotten a pretty good offer, especially since he sounds so desperate. Who calls someone they just met to ask for a favor like this? Talk about thick skin.Not hearing me respond right away, Greg continues, "Look, I know I'm asking for a lot, especially since we barely know each other, but I'll make it worth your while. If you can help me out, I'll pay you $100—and I'll owe you a favor."That got my attention. "You must have gotten a really sweet offer on that dresser, huh? Alright, text me your location, and I'll head your way now.""Thanks, man, you're a lifesaver!" Greg replies, clearly relieved.After hanging up the phone and tossing on some clothes, I heard my phone buzz again. Checking the screen, Greg had already sent me the address. He must really want to impress this client—they've got to be loaded.On my way out the door, I scoop up the five rings I'd been working on and drop them into my pocket. After all, you never know when I might have some downtime to work on that inscription for the spell formation.I shake my head with a wry smile as I walk out the door. Funny, I called out of work to avoid leaving the house, and yet, right at 7:00 on the dot, out I go. Some things are just inevitable, I guess.The drive is uneventful—a mix of sleepy suburbs and the occasional strip of shops passing by as I mindlessly follow the GPS directions. My mind keeps wandering back to those rings in my pocket. Five rings, all successfully enchanted to hold mana. Each one a tiny triumph, even if they aren't perfect. It's strange how normal this is starting to feel. Not long ago, I was just a guy stuck in a rut, staring at spreadsheets in a cubicle. Now I'm enchanting objects and planning to use spell formations. If anyone had told me this a year ago, I would've laughed them out of the room.I pull into the street where Greg's supposed to be, and his truck isn't hard to spot—an old, beat-up thing sitting lopsided on the side of the road with its hood up. Greg is pacing next to it, phone to his ear. When I pull up and park, he finally notices me, waving with a look of relief."Thanks for coming, man," he says, ending his call and shoving his phone into his pocket. "I was just explaining the delay to the client.""No problem," I reply, glancing at his truck. "What happened?""Engine just died out of nowhere," he says with a sigh. "I was hoping it'd be something simple, but it looks like I'm gonna have to get it towed."I give him a sympathetic look. "Well, should we get that dresser moved?""You're right," Greg says with a nod. "The client's just ten minutes up the road. Let's get it delivered, and I'll worry about the truck after."We head to the back of his truck, where he lowers the tailgate, revealing the dresser. It's an old, intricately carved piece of furniture—dark wood with brass handles, definitely antique. It has that old-money vibe. I can't help but wonder where he even found this thing. It's bigger than I expected, and I glance at Greg, curious as to how he planned on moving this solo."You weren't planning on carrying this by yourself, were you?" I ask, half-joking.Greg chuckles nervously. "Yeah, not my best idea. But the client's paying top dollar. I really didn't have much choice."We start shifting the dresser from his truck to mine. It's heavier than it looks—so almost without thinking, and despite my better judgment, I start circulating mana through my body to make the task more manageable. The difference is shocking. I guess all that meditation and practice refining rings is paying off. What started as a backbreaking task quickly becomes heavy but manageable. Soon enough, we've got the dresser loaded and tied down."Perfect! You drive, and I'll navigate. The sooner we get this thing off my hands, the better," Greg says, still sounding a little on edge.The drive over to the client's place is smooth, though Greg is clearly anxious, constantly checking his phone and muttering to himself. I can't help but wonder how much they're paying him and why he's so nervous. What's so special about this dresser?As we get closer to the client's house, the scenery shifts—the houses grow larger and more spaced out, with immaculate lawns and high-end cars parked in the driveways. Greg directs me to a massive gated property on the edge of the neighborhood."Wow," I say as I take in the towering gates. "You weren't kidding about them being loaded.""Yeah, they've got money to burn," Greg replies, his tone a mix of excitement and nerves. "The place belongs to some big-shot art dealer. I just need to drop this off, get paid, and we're golden."The gate opens slowly as we approach, and I drive through, following the long driveway up to a massive mansion. Within moments of parking, a sharply dressed man steps out of the front door, waving us over.Greg and I unload the dresser and carry it to the entrance. The client, an older man with sharp eyes and an unsettlingly smooth smile, watches us carefully as we set the dresser down in the foyer. He inspects it with keen interest, his fingers tracing the carved edges."Excellent work," the man says in a cultured voice. "You've delivered it in perfect condition."Greg grins, visibly relieved. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad you're satisfied."The man pulls out a checkbook and writes out a check, handing it over to Greg. "As promised—and a little extra for your trouble."Greg's eyes widen as he glances at the check. He quickly stammers out a thank you, shaking the man's hand enthusiastically.As we head back to the truck, I can't shake the strange tension in the air. Something about that client felt... off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile too sharp. But I brush it off as my overactive imagination. Still, the unease sticks with me as we drive away from the mansion.Once we're back on the main road, Greg lets out a long sigh of relief. "Man, that went better than I expected. I owe you big time, Nathan.""Glad I could help," I reply, though my mind is still on that client. Something about him didn't sit right."Let's grab some lunch," Greg suggests. "My treat, of course."I nod, trying to shake the unease. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"As we head toward a local diner, I catch a glimpse of something in the side mirror. For just a moment, I swear I see a figure standing in the distance, watching us. But when I blink, it's gone.I shake my head and focus on the road. I'm probably just imagining things... right?