Fizk’s tavern was just one ordinary establishment among many in Fokxas.

The city teemed with mercenaries—blade-runners who took jobs at the guild hall and lived by the edge of their steel. They needed outlets, and so the pleasure trade and taverns thrived.

The liquor market was vast, yet crowded. Without a unique edge, a tavern would fade into obscurity.

Fizk himself longed for a savior for his failing business.

That very day, a Claire Family carriage halted before his door.

Fizk blinked in surprise. Their last deal had fallen through. Why return now?

He waddled out to greet them, belly leading the way.

“Oh! Viscount Clarein! What a joy to see you again!” he beamed.

Sileus nodded warmly. “The pleasure is mine, Master Fizk.”

“I’ve come about your brew,” Sileus continued, smiling. “I sincerely hope you won’t disappoint me this time.”

“Of course, of course!” Fizk agreed eagerly, though confusion prickled his mind. Hadn’t they already sampled his stock?

“Let’s discuss inside,” Sileus said.

“Right away!” Fizk ushered the trio in, his unease deepening.

Liya carried the bottle discreetly, revealing it only once they were alone indoors.

Fizk sniffed the liquid curiously, then took a cautious sip. His eyes widened instantly.

As a tavern master, he knew quality when he tasted it.

“This—this!” He shot to his feet, trembling with excitement.

“Easy now, Master Fizk,” Sileus soothed with a chuckle.

“Can you replicate this malt brew?” Sileus asked.

“No problem! None at all! Just tell me how, Viscount, and I’ll brew it for you!” Fizk thumped his chest.

Kestia scoffed inwardly. *If we knew how, we wouldn’t need you.*

Sileus merely smiled patiently. “Do you have any aged stock in your workshop? Barrels stored for some time?”

“Aged stock? Well… not much. Not much at all,” Fizk hedged. Truthfully, he had plenty—unsold, gathering dust. He’d tried refining his craft, but his own skill and his workers’ were lacking. Every tweak only worsened the brew.

“Bring me your oldest opened barrels. Preferably tapped over half a month ago,” Sileus requested.

“I… suppose I can,” Fizk hesitated, glancing at the crystal-clear bottle. He couldn’t fathom their intent.

“I wish to inspect them first. There may still be room for partnership,” Sileus said meaningfully.

With his tavern sinking, Fizk had no reason to refuse. He sent workers to fetch the barrels.

Soon, over a dozen casks arrived—some already uncorked.

Kestia, Sileus, and Liya examined each closely, missing no detail.

Sadly, every brew was cloudy. Not a drop held that luminous clarity.

Kestia met Sileus’s gaze. He gave a subtle shake of his head. *This wine didn’t come from here.*

After brief, polite farewells, they departed, leaving Fizk bewildered. *Beating a dead horse,* he grumbled silently. *Utterly pointless.*

Inside the carriage, silence hung heavy.

“What leads remain?” Kestia finally asked Sileus.

Sileus sighed. “We must consider… something within the estate altered this wine.”

“This brew requires immense magic to separate impurities—to extract the ‘essence of wine.’ Yet here, the essence formed naturally. Perhaps a creature consumed only the dregs, leaving pure essence behind.”

“You mean… a minor magical beast in our home?” Liya ventured.

“It’s the only explanation,” Sileus affirmed.

Kestia pondered silently. In this world of wonders, she couldn’t dismiss it.

“Then we search the estate,” she decided.

“I pray we’re not chasing shadows,” she murmured.

“Indeed. After such hope… I dread false dawn,” Sileus echoed.

Half a day’s fruitless searching had worn their spirits thin. This was a gamble, after all.

Kestia stared out the window, silent.

*Why build a human business at all?* she wondered. *Why marry into the Belnos name?*

They’d gained recognition, yes. But bridging dragon and human worlds? Influencing society? That dream felt distant.

Doubt gnawed at her. Was this path even meaningful?

She’d chosen Lanche as her consort—a strategic match. They’d sworn oaths to the gods. Even Dragonfolk dared not break such vows; divine retribution was no myth.

*The man himself mattered little,* she’d thought. *I’d build the Claire legacy alone—commerce, influence, kinship between races…*

This failure tasted like personal defeat.

The carriage halted. Home.

Lekui noted their grim faces. The search had gone poorly.

Kestia gave a terse summary, then tasked Lekui with joining the hunt for an unknown entity across the estate.

“It must radiate magic. Without it, this wine couldn’t transform,” Sileus stated firmly.

Lekui’s unease grew. *This is desperate nonsense.*

“Um… that bottle,” she blurted reluctantly. “Lanche brought it. He might have placed it there.”

“It could be tied to him,” she admitted stiffly.

“But Lanche has no magic. Does he possess such a creature?” Kestia frowned.

“Maybe…” Lekui shrugged, her voice lacking conviction.

“Summon him,” Kestia ordered.

“He’s out. Not back yet.” Lekui winced, irritation flaring at Lanche’s inconvenient absence. “Though… he’s been tinkering in the courtyard. With some contraption.”

“Let’s see it,” Sileus said.

This father-in-law had always sensed something unusual about Lanche. Perhaps miracles did lurk in plain sight.

Kestia followed Lekui to the courtyard with little hope. There stood Lanche’s strange apparatus—glass tubes and coils.

“No magic at all. Just… ordinary glass?” The four Dragonfolk exchanged glances.

“He *was* heating wine here,” Lekui offered weakly, bracing for criticism over her shaky intel.

“We’ll question him when he returns,” Sileus said.

“Him? He has zero magic,” Kestia pressed, skeptical.

“We ask anyway,” Sileus replied wryly. “What other hope have we left?”