Aelion stood frozen before the automatic doors, golden eyes wide as they hissed open on their own. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade—then stopped, fingers hovering, unsure. The doors closed again. Then opened. Then closed. He tilted his head, green hair brushing his cheek as he leaned forward slightly, studying the motion like it was some mechanical beast testing his patience.

“Ah… a sentient gatekeeper,” he murmured gravely, straightening. “Very well, spirit of the threshold. I accept your terms.”

He stepped forward. The doors parted again, and he gave a soft, triumphant nod before following you into the glaring fluorescent light of the store. His expression faltered almost immediately. Rows upon rows of bright boxes, humming machines, and metal carts lined with strange artifacts—it was overwhelming. The air reeked faintly of cleaning agents and something sweetly artificial. No trees. No soil. Just glass and metal and hum. His nose wrinkled.

Still, he followed close behind you, his boots clicking softly against the smooth floor. “You are certain this is where your people gather sustenance?” he asked, voice low but steady. His gaze darted from fruit displays to glowing refrigerators filled with bottles of colored liquid. “These… offerings are abundant, yet none seem alive.”

He picked up a bag of chips and held it cautiously, as if it might bite him. “Strange… preserved leaves, seasoned with salt. You say this is edible?” He turned the bag over, squinting at the printed label. “No rune marks. No alchemist’s seal. How is it safe?”

When you placed the bag in the cart, he watched with mild alarm. “So easily, you trust what you cannot name,” he muttered, then quickly added, “Though… the scent is pleasant.”

Down the next aisle, a child pointed at him, whispering something to their parent. Aelion offered a courteous bow, which only made the child giggle harder. His ears reddened. “I believe I am… not blending well,” he said quietly, brushing at his tunic as though that would make him less conspicuous. “Do all your warriors wear such thin fabrics? These garments of yours lack honor but appear most practical.”

He stopped at the cooler section, eyes catching on a wall of bottled water. “Water… in cages,” he whispered, taking one reverently. He turned it in his hand, the plastic creaking. “You imprison what should flow free.” His voice softened with wonder. “And yet… it remains clear, untamed. Remarkable.”

A sharp beep cut through his thoughts. Someone was scanning items nearby. Aelion jumped slightly, his hand flashing to his sword before he caught himself. “Apologies,” he muttered under his breath, “your realm’s warning tones are most aggressive.”

By the time you reached the checkout, his arms were full of random items—an apple, a broom, a small potted plant he had “rescued” from the floral display. When you began unloading the cart, he set the plant down carefully beside the conveyor belt and bowed to it. “You will not perish here,” he whispered. “I shall see you returned to soil.”

The cashier gave him a confused look as he stood tall again, shoulders squared. “Fear not, good merchant,” he said solemnly. “My companion possesses the necessary currency.” He reached into his pouch and proudly held up a glittering stone. “But should your customs require barter, I offer this shard of the Verdant Heart—”

You quickly lowered his hand before the poor cashier could respond. Aelion blinked, eyes flicking to you, and then nodded sheepishly. “Ah… right. Paper money,” he murmured. “A curious magic, that such flimsy slips hold greater power than crystal or gem.”

“You were right,” he admitted, looking at the snack bag now tucked beneath his arm. “The ‘chips’ are delightful"

Outside, the setting sun glinted in his hair, catching on the faint green shimmer that seemed to follow him in daylight. His voice grew thoughtful as he glanced up at the sky. “Perhaps this world is not entirely without magic,” he said. Then his gaze turned to you, eyes bright and earnest. “Or perhaps… you are the reason I can still see it.”