Standing on the gravel path leading into the park, Luka was surrounded on all sides. To the north, the Guilds’ mages prowled with money and contracts on their minds. To the east were the lurking hair stylists and the chests full of scissors and combs. And to the west was, potentially, the worst of them all: a silent mob underling, slowly walking over with a burning cig firmly locked in his lips.

  The first to attack was the mages.

  “Luka! You can’t avoid us forever, you know!”

  The World Walker grimaced, recognizing the voice from the trio of mages in an instant. Like scraping glass, Mage Whitaker’s voice carried far. He was an older halfling, likely just as old as Luka actually was, but he didn’t look it—time magic did that to a person. Stuck in a middle-aged body, Whitaker wore his position on his sleeve and his wealth everywhere else. He was rich. Stupid rich. He was powerful. Stupid powerful. And he flaunted both.

  Luka wouldn’t be surprised if the man’s current outfit was more expensive than Princess Alexandra’s entire traveling wardrobe. Enchanted fabric grew exponentially in price as complexity increased, especially when surface area dwindled. Which, as a halfling, was the case.

  Flanking either side of the mage, two nameless lackeys hobbled along, each carrying their weight in stacked papers and writing utensils. Luka didn’t so much as give them a second glance—they’d likely be fired by this time next week, meaning he had no reason to remember them.

  “No Mage Farr?” Luka quipped.

  Farr was responsible for Luka’s first introduction to the Guilds and the way they operated. Arriving at the park with a subpoena form, Farr took actions into his own hands when the locals failed to bend the knee at his poorly hidden threats. Eventually magical blows were thrown, and Franky was sent hurtling across the way, crashing into the dirt.

  It was then Vale arrived, inside of Annie’s body, and turned Farr into a bean-sized lump of flesh, killing him. Getting the mage un-beanified was an ordeal, one that required the intervention of many divine powers. In the end, Farr lived and his memories of the traumatic moment were sealed away, Vale relinquished Annie’s body to create her own, and Vale eventually gave up her magical powers to live the life of a mortal.

  So, when Luka spotted Vale watching the trio of mages as they spoke, he couldn’t help but smirk a little. Was it wrong Vale killed a man? Yes, but it was also somewhat amusing how fearful they all were of Vale.

  Whitaker frowned, crossing his arms. “Mage Farr has officially put in a request to change branches. He does not wish to be on this side of the kingdom.”

  Luka couldn’t help but notice a misting of perspiration across the back of the halfling’s neck. Farr might have had his memories of dying sealed, but—as Luka could attest—nightmares didn’t seem to get the memo. Everyone in the Guilds understood some dark horrors happened in the park that day, yet none wished to talk about them.

  “Good for him,” Luka flatly said. “Now, what can I do for you? Need I remind you that Sol is our go-between? I think I told you that last time you sought me out.”

  Whitaker ignored most of what he said and replied, “I have forms for you to sign.” He reached back, extending his short arms to his lackey, who passed him a stack of papers.

  “No.”

  The mages halted. Slowly, Whitaker turned back. “No?”

  “I signed everything I’m willing to sign for the time being. I told you that last time you tried to push something on me and Sol.” Luka didn’t hide his annoyance.

  Ever since Luka revealed the fact that most, if not all, of the magical knowledge the Guilds collected was wrong, the Guilds had tried to worm their way into the park to steal Luka’s secrets. They couldn’t fathom that he, along with Sol and everyone else in Emberwood Village, didn’t know any more.

  God Neb and Goddess Tippy had shown Sol a way to fix her illusionary glyphs so that they didn’t cause people to become sick. This was on the coattails of Luka throwing a fit about harming people

  As if expecting Luka’s statement, Whitaker waved his hand and attempted to thrust the unsigned contracts forward. “I know. But this is all formality. These dictate the process of how the Guilds are going to import your goods. We need them signed—”

  “No, you don’t.” Luka knew the man was lying. Simple as that. In fact, he thought Whitaker tried this same lie a few weeks ago.

  “We do! Just look here!” The halfling pointed to a section under the letterhead that read ‘Imports: Motes of Undeath.’

  Luka potently looked down. “Uh huh. And what do the other six hundred pages say?”

  The man hesitated. “We’re just being thorough.

  “Stop wasting my time. We both know you’re trying to get me to sign my life away to the Guilds. It. Is. Not. Going. To. Happen. So, why don’t you be an actual business partner, and come through on your side of the deal?”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Whitaker looked as though he had been slapped. “Very well, Mr. World Walker. Your first shipment of… imports will be arriving soon.”

  “Good. Have the higher ups thought about my proposal anymore? Because after this meeting right now, I’m thinking of rescinding my offer.”

  Whitaker now looked as though he had been kneed in the groin. “Magic above, no! You can’t pull that—”

  “I can and I will if we are not left alone. You are harassing me during business hours, and I heard you keep scrying Sol’s hut. She doesn’t like that.”

  With a snap of his fingers, the stacks of contracts burnt to a fiery crisp in the halfling’s hands. “Fine.”

  “I’m glad we can come to an understanding.”

  Whitaker slacked his jaw from size to side, considering. After a moment, his gaze fell toward the path leading to the World Tree Inn. “How did you ever swing a World Tree? The Guilds looked into growing our own for centuries.”

  Luka ignored the question. “Anything else today, Mage Whitaker?”

  Taken out of his rhetorical musing, the halfling begrudgingly nodded. “Your proposal: it was accepted by the higher ups.” He snapped his fingers again and the third mage quickly searched through her satchel, eventually returning a thin binder.

  The binder was passed along to Whitaker, then to Luka. Holding the old, worn leather in his hands, Luka couldn’t help but smile. Working with the Guilds, putting up with their annoying, self-centered members, and their draconian rules was all worth it for this single binder.

  Gently slapping it against his palm, Luka said, “A few dozen specialized glyphs for a plot of land in the hottest resort destination adventure entertainment amusement park seems like a good deal, no?”

  Whitaker didn’t grace the question with a response, and instead turned and walked off, his underlings in tow.

  Almost instantly, the mobster swooped in, filling the mages’ void. He flexed his jacket collar, puffed his cig, and locked eyes with the World Walker. “Boss wants to meet you.”

  Luka saw several hundred ways this conversation could go. Unfortunately, most could only be fantasy. He shook the image of Barns’ beaten, bruised face from his mind and outstretched his hand.

  “Well met.” Handshakes were a bit of an oddity around these parts. Humans did it, but not many other races did. Orc, for example, punched each other’s fist as hard as they could in greeting.

  In this case, the human mobster ignored Luka’s hand and said, “We’ll be waiting in the Whirlpool Tavern. Drinks are on you.” With that, the man walked off, heading toward Stormcorsair Harbor and the illusionary rains.

  Luka shook his head as the third and final party of people hesitantly walked over. There were four of them. They wore plain clothes. Plain, boring shoes. Some had piercings, others simple tattoos.

  But each had insane hair.

  A woman, the leader of the group, stepped forward, her hair done up in a wide web of mist and dew. Set in a braid, each strand of hair compiled into a magical glyph, one that produced magic like the very glyphs that fueled the park. She, a human, stuck her hand out in greeting.

  “Luna’s the name, hair is my game!” she practically yelled.

  Luka hesitated at her words before adapting and moving on. “Well met, I’m Luka.”

  “The World Walker, we know!” a man said, stepping forward. He was a beastman, a lion or cat breed of some kind. His mane wrapped around his neck and faded nicely into his lush chest hair. On his head, an afro made of the sun’s rays followed his curly perm. “I’m Alpha!”

  Luka gave a tight smile. “Hello there, Alpha. Is that a birth name or…?”

  “Oh no, my mother named me Greg.” He flexed his massive arm, showing off his huge muscles. “But I think Alpha is more fitting, no?”

  “Guess so!” Luka gestured for them to follow. “Walk with me, I’ve got too many things to do and can’t stand around all day.”

  The other two haircutters were introduced as Sunny and Goldie—twins who both wore their hair up in tight buns that split in the middle like rose petals. Illusional petals fell in their wake, magic once again part of their stylings.

  “I saw the uniforms you guys brought! They were nice!” Luka said, navigating through the crowds.

  “Thank you,” said Luna. “We handed off a crate of shirts and pants to the orc called… Train.”

  “Tram,” coughed Alpha.

  “Ah, yes, Tram, that’s right.” Luna smiled at a little kid as they walked by, the mist from her hair wafting down like bubbles. “We were only able to make fifty pairs during our travels to the park. Our God suggested we at least triple that before starting on the other costumes you wanted. We want everyone to have at least three pairs.”

  “From there,” Alpha quickly jumped in, “we’ll make uniforms to order. Just send whoever you hire to us, and we’ll get them fitted.”

  Luka considered that for a moment. “That sounds good to me.”

  “Then, of course, there is the worry of our own place of business,” Luna said.

  “Yes. I was thinking about that. Would you like rooms attached to the barber shop or would you want me to build you four small cottages outside the park and in the village?”

  The hairdressers looked at one another before Alpha said, “Four rooms attached to the shop, please.”

  “Are you okay with multiple stories?” Luka asked. “Ground level would be the barbershop, then two rooms above and two more above those. You’d have more space, but you’d have to deal with stairs.”

  Again, a silent conversation rounded through the group. “That will be satisfactory.”

  Luka stopped and regarded these people. Odd lot, sure, but they seemed nice enough. “Alright, well, we’re here.” They stood in a plot of land at the start of the Stormcorsair Harbor. “You all tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

  With that, the fa?ade buildings that made up the other side of the docks broke inwards, revealing the natural forest behind the themed land. Soon walls formed, then floors and ceilings. Stairs came next, and a second and third story. Everything was generic, styling would come in a few minutes.

  Luka cracked his neck. He hadn’t truly created anything in a while. He finally remembered just how amazing it was.