Even through the bag, Tara can sense the Grand Auction House is impressive—a massive building, grand and imposing, with magical wards that make the air shimmer around it. The structure feels important, official, like a place where serious business happens.

  They enter, and the sounds wash over him: voices echoing, footsteps on polished floors, the clink of coins, the rustle of papers.

  "Welcome to the Grand Auction House," a voice says—professional, polished. "How may I assist you?"

  "We'd like to register some items for tomorrow's auction," Elena says.

  "Of course. This way, please."

  They move through the building, and Tara senses they're being led to some kind of registration area. The bag is set down again, and he can hear papers rustling, the scratch of a quill against parchment.

  "Name?" the voice asks.

  "Elena Blackwood," Elena replies.

  "Very good. And what items are you registering?"

  "Just this pyramid artifact," Elena says.

  The bag is opened, and Tara finds himself on another table, this one in what looks like a registration office. A clerk sits behind a desk, scribbling notes. Elena and Kira stand nearby.

  "Let me see the artifact," the clerk says.

  Elena places Tara on the table.

  "This pyramid... interesting. What does it do?"

  "Generates energy," Elena says. "Constantly. And it stores energy internally. We had it appraised at Master Thorne's, but we think it's worth more than his offer."

  "Master Thorne?" the clerk says, raising an eyebrow. "He's known for... conservative appraisals. Let me examine this."

  He picks up Tara, and Tara feels magical energy probing him again. It's becoming routine by now—being examined, tested, evaluated.

  "Impressive," the clerk says. "The energy generation is constant, and the storage capacity is significant. This is definitely auction-worthy. I'll register it as a high-value artifact. Starting bid will be set at four hundred gold."

  "Four hundred?" Elena says. "That's more than Master Thorne offered."

  "The auction house sets starting bids based on our own appraisals," the clerk explains. "We're more... generous than private appraisers. And this artifact will likely go for more than the starting bid. Energy-generating artifacts are always popular. Our commission is ten percent of the final selling price."

  Tara feels an odd sense of pride. He doesn't know why, but there it is.

  They finish the registration, and Tara is placed on a display shelf—not put back in the bag this time. The storage counter: 165,000 units.

  "Registration is complete," the clerk says. "The artifact will remain here until the auction tomorrow afternoon. You can collect your payment after the auction, minus our ten percent commission."

  "Thank you," Elena says.

  Tara watches as Elena and Kira leave, leaving him alone in the auction house. Well, not alone—other artifacts surround him, displayed on shelves and in cases, each waiting for its turn.

  He tries to observe what he can. Weapons line the shelves—swords, daggers, staffs—all glowing with magical energy. Amulets, rings, scrolls, potions. All sorts of magical items, waiting to be auctioned off.

  Then Tara senses something that makes him... uncomfortable. A sword, black as midnight, displayed in a case nearby. It radiates a dangerous aura, something dark and menacing. Just being near it sends shivers down Tara's non-existent spine.

  That thing is dangerous. He can feel it. It's like... like it wants to hurt things. To destroy things. He doesn't like it.

  He tries to release some energy, to do something, anything, but as usual, nothing happens. The energy stays locked inside him, accumulating. 166,000 units. 167,000 units.

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  He tries to turn his face away, but he has a face in every direction—even if he could move.

  Meanwhile, at The Silver Stag inn, Elena and Kira find the rest of their party already deep into celebration. Garrick and the others are drinking, their voices loud and cheerful, mugs clattering on tables.

  "Elena! Kira!" Garrick calls out, his voice already slurred. "Over here! We've been waiting for you!"

  They move through the busy common room and sit down at the table where the others are gathered.

  "So, what happened?" someone asks.

  "We sent the artifact to the auction house and will sell the other items at the guild shop. They'll auction it tomorrow afternoon."

  "Good," another party member says. "Hope it sells for a lot."

  "Me too," Elena replies. "Starting bid is four hundred gold, so it should do well."

  The conversation moves on to other topics—the dungeon run, the treasure they've found, plans for the next adventure.

  "Another round!" Garrick calls out. "For everyone!"

  "Garrick, maybe you should slow down," someone says.

  "I'm fine!" Garrick protests. "I can handle my drink. Watch this!"

  A thud echoes as Garrick climbs onto a table, his boots scuffing against the wood. "I'm gonna dance!" he announces.

  "Garrick, no—" Elena starts.

  "GARRICK YES!" He begins what could generously be called dancing—more of an enthusiastic stomping that makes the table creak ominously. Two stomps in, one leg goes through the table with a splintering crash. Garrick flails, overbalances, and topples sideways, taking the entire table and half the mugs on it down with him.

  The common room erupts in laughter and groans.

  "Garrick, you idiot!" Kira says, trying to hold back her laugh. "You just destroyed that table!"

  "The table attacked me!" Garrick protests from the floor, covered in ale and splinters. "It was self-defense."

  "It was lack of self-control," someone mutters.

  "How much?" Elena asks the innkeeper with a long-suffering sigh.

  "That will be ten gold," the innkeeper says, looking resigned to this sort of thing.

  "Ten gold? That's nothing. I'm rich! We're all rich!" Garrick says, still on the floor.

  "Garrick, sit down," Elena says, her voice firm. "Before you break something else and I break your teeth."

  "Fine, fine," Garrick grumbles. "The furniture here isn't of good quality." The innkeeper shoots him a pointed look, but Elena gestures apologetically before he can say anything.

  The night continues with Garrick's antics, but eventually winds down. The adventurers go to their rooms, ready to rest before the auction the next day.

  Back at the auction house, Tara remains on his display shelf, surrounded by other artifacts. The black sword still radiates its dangerous aura, and Tara keeps his distance—or tries to, anyway. He's stuck where he is.

  Tomorrow's the auction. He's going to be sold to whoever bids the most. Auctioned off like a piece of art.

  He tries again to release energy, to do something, but as always, nothing happens. The energy stays locked inside him, accumulating.

  "At least I'm not stuck in a bag listening to Garrick snore," Tara thinks.

  "It had been a short time, but they were a fun and kind group, and I'd developed a bond with them. They wouldn't know, of course—how could they? But I'd felt it. I hope whoever buys me tomorrow will be half as decent," Tara thinks, turning his attention back to the energy locked inside him.