Chapter 2: Selling Sand in Desert

Grotto Goblins Warehouse.

The name was a stone thrown into a lake of doubts. "Goblins?" they asked. "In a Grotto? Here?" The question never came alone, it was accompanied by glances to the east, where the road turned into the wilderness, where Rapha and his friend had gone to snoop around. The questions grew like weeds: what was that? Why now? Why in Escadero?

The baron's hall, always quiet, seemed to hear everything. Its tall windows remained closed, but in the shadows behind the curtains, many swore they saw eyes. The baron had not appeared in public since the last full moon, but it was said that a messenger dressed in red had entered through the side gate before the sun had even risen.

And what about the starched men? Foreigners, no doubt. Their boots did not bear local mud. Their words sounded different. They seemed to possess something that could not be named.

At dawn the next day, two uniformed officials, adopting the posture of calculated deference so common in Cinnabar, were seen walking towards the warehouse at the exit of the village. They approached the entrance with measured steps.

One of the officials, with a formal smile, addressed the figure in a suit who was watching from inside:

— Excuse me, good morning. We represent the administration of baron Monfre. We are here only for a routine verification of data and formalities of this new venture. Could you enlighten us about the nature of the operations conducted here by… Grotto Goblins?

The man in business attire, whose calm seemed like a well-fitted mask, responded with equal politeness, his voice controlled and without unnecessary inflections:

— Gentlemen, good morning. Grotto Goblins thanks the city hall for its diligence. This is a temporary logistics operation for the receipt and safe storage of containers. Wooden crates, to be exact. They contain materials of a... specific nature, with considerable symbolic value. I can assure you that all legal procedures are strictly in order. We have the supporting documentation at our disposal.

With a gesture, he indicated the papers.

There they were: a transport and storage permit issued with the unmistakable Royal Seal, indicating direct approval from the circle of the God-King. Beside it, a certificate of compliance issued by the High Magistrate of the Vermillion Order. It was confirmation that the operation had passed the scrutiny of the other great forces of the state.

Attached to this powerful pair of authorizations was a detailed plan for a Zen garden. The description of the material in the documents was surprisingly mundane, and at the same time, extraordinary: very fine sand, extracted directly from the natural sanctuary of the World Tree, a protected place with restricted access.

The Officials exchanged a quick glance. It was sacred sand, with the Royal Seal and the approval of the Vermillion Order, intended for a Zen garden, according to the plan submitted. It must have been a project for the Royal Palace or another high-ranking Dievai property.

The agent forced a wider smile:

-Understood. The documentation appears complete and in order. We greatly appreciate your cooperation, sir. Have a good day at work.

With a brief bow, the agents left.

Less than a week after the discreet installation, the facade of controlled efficiency had crumbled. The manager of the 'Grotto Goblins' was exploding in frustration, his loud voice cutting through the air. He complained of 'conflicting instructions', 'inexplicable delays' and the 'suffocating bureaucracy' that invalidated the seals of approval he brandished.

The day after one of these outbursts, Escadero's routine was disrupted. A luxury carriage, black and lacquered, gleaming in the pale morning light, glided down the road and stopped silently in front of the warehouse. Its elegant, un-emblazoned lines exude power. From the door emerged a man who was a statement in himself: haute couture attire, impeccable cut, an absolute calm that defied the manager's outburst.

With measured steps and a gaze that assessed the rustic environment, the newcomer walked to the entrance. The curious glances, previously on the manager, fixed on him. The decision came quickly, but enigmatically.

The next morning, above the warehouse door, where shouts had previously echoed, a simple sign: 'FOR SALE'. No explanation, no dismantling, just the cold offer of the property.

For baron Monfre's administration, the sequence of events was intolerable.

Baron Monfre's office, a sanctuary of power and the peculiar, displayed on its dark walls and furniture not only symbols of authority, but an eclectic collection of souvenirs: stones with faint runes, fragments of twisted metal from forgotten places, ornaments that whispered arcane stories. In this environment of sigils and mystical echoes, Rogè, the impeccably dressed merchant and owner of "Grotto Goblins", sat relaxed, almost defying solemnity. Monfre watched him from behind his massive desk, where an opaque crystal pulsed gently beneath his fingers.

His soft voice carried the timbre of Dievai authority.

- Mister Rogè. Your presence in Escadero has stirred the still waters. To what do I owe the honor?

Rogè inclined his head, a polite smile on his lips.

- Baron Monfre, the honor is mine. And I thank you for your frankness. I have come to share something... unique. A chain of events that has brought me to this point, and I admit, defies the commercial logic that usually guides my steps.

Monfre made an inviting gesture with his free hand.

- Go ahead, sir. My time is yours. What upsets the logic of a businessman like you?"

- As you may have already learned - Rogè began, his voice carefully modulated

- My company was hired for a task of enormous prestige: to obtain and transport a material of exceptional purity, extracted from a... notoriously restricted area. A resource destined to beautify no less than the Royal Palace. We faced considerable logistical and diplomatic challenges, secured the highest approvals, the Royal Seal, the seal of the Vermillion Order… - He paused, as if weighing the weight of those words.

- Everything meticulously planned. And then, quite... abruptly, we received the notification. A 'reassessment of priorities' at the Palace. The project has been suspended indefinitely. - He gestured slightly.

- And so, this rare, almost sacred material, destined for royalty, now rests temporarily here. Within the confines of your Escadero, Baron.

Monfre drummed his fingers on the crystal.

- A 'reassessment,' you say. material already extracted from the World Tree and with such... seals involved. Curious. Very curious. And what is your plan now, sir. Rogè, for this unexpectedly idle treasure?

Rogè sighed, a studied perplexity.

- My practical mind seeks a logical path, baron. Recover the investment, find a new destination. But... the events do not fit together. The difficulty in obtaining, the mythical origin, the sudden cancellation... culminating here. Forgive my boldness, but the sequence seems... orchestrated. Too monumental a coincidence.

- Coincidences exist, Mr. Rogè. - Monfre replied softly.

- But in our world, they are rarely without intention. What does your intuition tell you?

Rogè leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.

- I am not versed in the arcane arts like a noble Dievai, baron. But I observe patterns. And I know your reputation... your discernment for objects that transcend material value, which carry echoes... resonances. I can't help but wonder… - He hesitated, choosing his words.

- What if this sand's true destination was never the Palace? If its journey has brought it to Escadero seeking... not a buyer, but a guardian? Someone with the sensitivity to understand its true nature?

Monfre arched an eyebrow, a glint of interest or amusement in his eyes.

- An intriguing prospect. Are you suggesting that this sand holds more than geological rarity? That it carries a... will? - He glanced at one of the artifacts on his shelf.

- Items of singular origin can have resonances, it is true. Echoes from the World Tree are no trivial matter. The question is to discern the nature of that resonance... and its intent.

- Exactly! - Rogè exclaimed, perhaps a little too quickly. - Ever since this material arrived, I have felt a... disturbance in normality. My practical mind hesitates, but my intuition... just look, baron, even I have one... compels me to seek wiser advice. Therefore, before any pragmatic decision, I felt it was my duty to share this with you first. I would love to show you the material there in the warehouse. Your unique perspective... your experience with the unusual... Perhaps it can illuminate what my eyes still cannot decipher.

Monfre sat back, pondering. The invitation tempted him, arousing his vanity and curiosity. Dievai touched the crystal.

- The perspective... yes. The value lies not in the substance, but in the history it carries, in the energy it has absorbed…

An urgent knock sounded on the office door. Before Monfre could answer, it opened, and one of Rogè's employees burst in, panting and disheveled.

- Mr. Rogè! Baron, a thousand pardons! An offer! — the man shouted, his voice cracking. — For the entire lot of sand! They just offered triple the initial value!

The aura of mystery snapped. Rogè stood up abruptly, his philosophical calm undone by the urgency of a businessman.

- Triple? Who? What guarantees? — He turned to Monfre, composing himself. — Baron, excuse the interruption. Worldly matters call me urgently.

As Rogè and the employee hurried out, Monfre heard the man's loud voice down the hallway. - Pay in cash, sir! Take it or leave it!

Baron Monfre remained seated, watching the closed door. A slight smile played on his lips.