Pieces of Sonder

Freya arrived in Safka early the next morning.

Yesterday, Infamous Biscuit assured her that using her emergency fast-travel card was not necessary. There had been “a misunderstanding” and “a little bit of a mess,” but she shouldn’t waste her item coming back here. He had given the leckrierium stomach medicine to Jendu, and everything was fine.

Why he needed to send so many messages if everything was fine, Freya wasn’t sure.

The early morning sun warmed her skin as she made her way to her house and shaman shop. As she rounded the corner onto her street, she noticed a lot of trash and debris. She accidentally kicked a piece of glass.

Odd, that looks like a vial I would buy to put potions into.

Then she came to her shaman shop. 

Or at least what was left of it.

“What-what happened!”

Freya gaped at the scene. 

The entire front of her shop was gone. Wooden boards, glass, leaves, and liquid spread out from the epicenter of the destruction. The wall separating her back workspace had collapsed, crushing her main work table. Her upper living space was leaning dangerously forward, ready to collapse into the vacant front half of her shop.

She slowly blinked and rubbed her eyes.

Is this real? How did this happen? What caused this kind of destruction?

“Excuse me,” a voice said behind her.

Freya slowly turned to the person. Their all-black outfit and blue colored hair immediately told her they were a game player.

[Nightscythe]

[Lvl 9 Rogue]

“I guess you must be Freya Evenkey, the shaman here?”

She blankly stared at the player. The boy brushed away a stray blue hair. 

“Infamous Biscuit told me you’re actually the shaman that practices in this town, and this is your shaman shop,” the player said, an upbeat note to his voice.

Freya continued to stare, deadpan.

“Ah, I met him yesterday,” Nightscythe carried on. “Hey, so, is it really true then that you used to be an NPC? Do you think it’s possible-”

“Did you cause this destruction?”

Her jumbled thoughts had started to coalesce while the player rambled on. It didn’t matter how this player knew her; she only wanted answers for the destruction of her home and shop.

“Well, you know... I thought Infamous Biscuit was one of those people going around and killing NPCs. I used an air bomb, and it worked kinda stronger than I thought. Although, he said we were lucky it wasn’t stronger…”

“You. Destroyed. My. Shop?”

“Er, well,” the player shuffled his feet and looked at the shops behind her. “Yeah, I guess it was kinda my fault–but yesterday we spent a lot of time collecting some of the potion bottles and such, a lot of stuff survived!”

He pointed to a small collection of vials placed near a neighboring shop.

Freya clutched her head and tried to take deep breaths to calm herself. Still, her voice came out icy cold, “This isn’t a dungeon or practice field that resets after use. These walls aren’t going to magically rebuild themselves. And all this glassware that I’ve been reusing for years! And all the herbs I gathered and dried! Do you know how much time and money it’s going to take to replace all this!”

Huffing in anger, she didn’t notice another figure come up behind her. 

“I’m really sorry Freya,” a familiar voice said.

She turned to find Infamous Biscuit. His tall figure was slumped and his face downcast. Seeing him, her rage lowered a little.

“If I had explained things better, maybe things wouldn’t have escalated so much,” Infamous Biscuit continued.

“Did you use the air bomb thingy?” Freya asked.

“No…”

“And all this destruction is from the air bomb, right?”

“Um, yes, mostly.”

Infamous Biscuit looked down sheepishly, but Freya had already turned back to Nightscythe. Blood and qi rushed around her body as she glared at him. Her nails dug into the palm of her hand as she clenched her fists. 

Crash!

A loose board from the second floor fell to the ground.

The sound made everyone jump. Freya looked behind the rogue player to her destroyed shop. There may be parts that could be saved, but it required a major rebuild. Her eyes stung. 

She remembered when she first arrived in Safka. It had been several years since a shaman worked in this shop. Dust had covered the tables and old leftover equipment. It took Freya months to restore the shop, but she loved it. It was hers. She lowered the bench heights to accommodate her shorter stature, built more shelving, and closed off the back area to create a private workroom. But it was all gone now.

“I am really sorry,” Nightscythe said, watching Freya’s expression grow more disheartened as she stared at the ruins.

His words provoked her again. Despite the apology, irritation still burned through her. “If you’re really sorry, build me a new shaman shop.”