"What in the hell is this."
Thran's face said more than words could — somewhere past discomfort, somewhere past disgust, in the specific territory of a man who had just seen the reflection of a stranger in his own bathroom mirror.
The outer room was dark and wet. The floor was muddy, littered with what appeared to be scraps — curled shavings of fat gone grey, withered flower stalks that had dried into something resembling skeletal fingers, and shattered glass vials stained with iridescent sludge. Towers of spent charcoal filters lined one wall. Clumps of a waxy, yellowish substance clung to the corners — the colour of old earwax, though it gave off no smell whatsoever. Bundles of dried roots hung from the low ceiling like forgotten things. Dark rings stained the floorboards where liquid had pooled and evaporated, again and again, over what looked like years.
"This looks worse than the most crowded public toilet back in India… but weirdly it doesn't smell bad. It's more like… scentless. As if there's nothing here at all."
"And that, my friend, is just the outside. We're not even inside the main shop."
"Wha— what? This isn't even the inside?"
"Calm down, Thran. It's not what you think. Just like this place — looks worse than wherever you just said, some India — yet smells like absolutely nothing. Trust me."
I let out a huge sigh.
Why did I follow this guy.
"Just wait until we get in, Thran. It's nothing like you expect."
"Yeah, yeah. Where is it?"
"Just on this wall."
They both arrived at the far edge of the property, facing a considerably large brick wall.
"Uhh..." Yule stared at it. "I forgot which one it is. There's supposed to be a secret door somewhere on this wall."
"Alright, I'm leaving. I only have about 12 minutes left before I have to be home—"
SCREEEE—
"Ah — yes! Found it." Yule turned around, grinning. "Thran, come here. It won't take more than 10 minutes."
By then the sun had begun its descent, the sky shifting from warm gold to a deep bruised orange. Wind moved through the trees surrounding the property in slow, heavy waves. The house behind them looked worse in the fading light — the kind of place you'd only enter on a dare. Yule stood half-swallowed by the shadow of the tunnel entrance, the passage beyond him stretching downward like the throat of something old.
"Come on — unless you want to be late."
"…Okay, fine."
I walked toward him.
And the moment I stepped close enough — a scent reached me.
Just a glimpse of it. A single thread carried on the air.
It smelled amazing.
I stopped walking. My face must have done something, because Yule smiled before I even said anything.
"Didn't I say so? This is my best location."
"…Maybe you're right."
I stepped into the tunnel, and with every step forward the scent grew — deeper, more layered, more alive. More sophisticated. By the middle of the passage it felt less like a smell and more like walking through a field of the world's most fragrant flowers at the exact moment they all bloomed at once.
"And here is the shop, Thran."
The tunnel opened to a large, solid door. Light leaked through the cracks at its edges, warm and steady.
I pushed it open.
The shop was something else entirely.
Tall shelves lined with hundreds of glass bottles — each one a different shape, a different colour, catching the warm light from above and scattering it across the walls. Dark and light wood panelling gave the interior a grounded, refined feel, broken up by deep leather sofas in warm browns and a display of framed botanical illustrations under glass. The counter was long and polished, and behind it, staff moved quietly and deliberately, the way people do when they've worked somewhere long enough to stop thinking about it. The scent in here was something else again — complex, layered, yet each perfume somehow distinct, none bleeding into the others.
It felt expensive without trying to look it.
Three other customers were present. An elderly man in deep, dazzling dark clothes that suggested old money. A noblewoman examining a small bottle near the far shelf. And someone in a robe leaning against the counter, talking to a clerk the way you only do with someone you already know.
A staff member approached — dressed in a dark formal uniform trimmed with thin gold outlines, precise and composed.
"Hello, sir. Welcome to the Ephemeral Bloom — the greatest unknown perfumery on the continent."
The scent of each perfume was distinct. I could pick them apart with a single breath, none of them bleeding into the others. It shouldn't have been possible.
"And may I ask — who referred our perfumery?"
Yule stepped forward and placed his hands on my shoulders.
"I referred him, Gant."
"If it isn't Mister Yule." Gant's expression warmed. "Welcome back — it's been a while. So, how may I help you two?"
They know each other. Not surprising — Yule said he was a regular. Loyal customer if anything.
"Help this one first," Yule said, nodding at me. "His name's Thran Klurette."
"Hello, Mr. Klurette. How may I help you?"
"Hello. Do you have an option for bulk orders?"
"Bulk, sir?" Gant tilted his head slightly. "Which scent were you looking for?"
"Do you have a recommendation? Something strong — but not sharp. Something that can make other scents disappear entirely. Overpowering ones."
"Yes, I do, sir — though it sits in one of our less popular sections, precisely because it does vanish other present scents in its surrounding. We call it the Golden Gale."
"That sounds perfect. Is it possible to order in large batches? I'm thinking of using it as an air freshener."
Gant paused.
"An… air freshener, sir? Could you explain what you mean by that?"
Right. Air freshener doesn't exist yet.
"It's a fragrance meant for the surrounding environment rather than for a person. Something to improve the scent of a space — a room, a street."
Gant went very still for a moment.
Then, slowly: "…Sir. That is a brilliant idea. An entirely brilliant idea. This could be a revolutionary product." He straightened up, eyes bright. "I will speak with the big boss about this at the earliest opportunity. Thank you, sir."
"No problem. So — the bulk order. Is that possible?"
"Absolutely, sir. How much were you thinking?"
"Let's start with 200 litres."
"That is quite a lot, sir — may I ask what you intend to use it for? For reference."
"The street outside. The main road. The neighbourhood. They smell like sweat, horses, rot — it's not pleasant."
"I understand entirely, sir." Gant picked up a flat board and began calculating, moving his pen across what appeared to be paper — though the texture was slightly off, not quite right. "And if there are any slightly defective batches — reduced potency, minor inconsistencies — would you still accept those?"
"Yes, I'll take those too."
Gant continued counting, lips moving slightly.
"Accounting for the bulk quantity, the defective inclusion, and the 200 litre volume… that would be at least 20 Crowns. Could reach 30 depending on the defective yield. However — since you're buying in bulk and were referred by Yule — I can bring it down to 20 flat."
"Hmm, 20 Crowns — WHAT?! 20 Crowns?!"
"You are buying 200 litres in bulk from the continent's finest perfumery, sir," Gant said, unfazed. "Compared to establishments of similar standing, ours is considerably more affordable."
"2… 2… 20 Crowns…"
Yule leaned over.
"What are you buying for 20 Crowns?"
Gant explained.
"Hmm." Yule glanced at me. "You've got about 6 minutes left, Thran. You should decide."
He whispered something to Gant. Gant nodded and stepped aside briefly to arrange the back door.
"Sir Thran — before I go." Gant turned back. "Regarding the air freshener concept — if you speak with the big boss directly, we may be able to offer you the 200 litres, or perhaps more, at a significantly reduced price. Possibly complimentary, depending on how the discussion goes."
"Complimentary?"
"Yes, sir. You may speak with whoever is at the counter, or with the shopkeeper directly if you encounter her. I'll open the back door for you now. Goodbye, sir."
He left swiftly.
"I'll just grab something before we go. Any recommendation, Yule?"
"Start with my favourite. And practically everyone's favourite." He picked up a small bottle and held it out. "The Ambered Hearth. Here — try it."
I gave it a try.
Oh.
"This smells like toasted marshmallow and caramel… but there's woodsmoke underneath it. And tobacco? This is incredible."
"Told you, Thran. Best in the continent."
"I'm actually starting to believe that." I turned the bottle over in my hands. "Can they do custom fragrances? Based on a specific brief?"
"Absolutely — though depending on the complexity it can get expensive."
"I'll come back for that then. For now — let's go home."
"Sure. You don't know the back door yet, so just let me know when you want to come again."
We finished up and headed for the back exit.
"We have two minutes."
CLOP. CLOP. CLOP.
A carriage rolled up — and in front of it, two horses that made every horse I'd ever seen look like a footstool.
"Holy — what are those horses? They look like giants."
"Titanoughts," Yule said. "2.5 metres at the shoulder. 3 to 4 tons each. One of these could pull a full-grown tree out of the ground by the roots. Alright — get in, we're cutting it close."
We got in. The carriage lurched into motion, and within moments it was moving at a speed that had no business belonging to something this large — fast, steady, and completely smooth. The kind of fast that made the road outside blur.
"They can't hit top speed while hitched," Yule noted, as if reading my thoughts. "Have to stay stable enough to pull without snapping the rigging. But even at this — we'll arrive with no seconds to spare."
Outside, the last of the orange had drained from the sky. Darkness was settling over the city. The lamps outside houses had come on, small warm circles along the road. Stands were folding up. Workers heading home. Trees bending slowly in the evening wind.
The carriage slowed.
We dropped down and I ran for the door, shoved it open, and shouted—
"RISSSS—"
Silence.
Thank God.
"Well then," Yule said from behind me. "Seems like our goodbye. When would you like to go again? I'm free the rest of the week — nothing on my end."
"Could you do tomorrow?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Thran?"
Elris's voice.
I turned. She was standing just outside, staring up at the carriage — and at the titanoughts, which from her angle must have looked like a wall with legs.
"What is this carriage — and what is this horse? It's almost twice as tall as me—"
"So this is the esteemed cousin of Mr. Thran."
Yule stepped forward, the picture of composed elegance.
"Hello, sir."
"Hello, my lady. I'm Yule — Thran's coworker."
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.
Elris's expression shifted immediately.
"What is that smell? It smells amazing — like sweets—"
Oh no. Here we go again. Just like Astin.
"That smell you're catching, my lady — that would be me."
"Oh my. What makes you smell like that, sir?"
"You may call me Yule, my lady."
"Very well, Yule — what makes you smell like that?"
"We were just at a perfumery. One of the scents must have carried. Quite something, isn't it?"
He glanced at her, and in that same motion cast a sideways look at me — the specific look that said you spent a lot of money, didn't you.
"I didn't buy anything," I said immediately. With perhaps slightly too much nervousness.
Elris sighed.
"It's fine, Thran. As long as you're not wasting money on useless things or overspending — you're still allowed to enjoy yourself, you know."
"Oh, what a thoughtful person you are, my lady," Yule said.
With that tone again.
…Is my cousin the female lead of a romantasy novel. Why do handsome men keep showing up and flirting with her.
"Well then, my lady — circumstances and time, unfortunately. It was a pleasure." He took her hand. "Until next time."
He kissed the back of her hand and stepped back toward the carriage.
"See you later, Yule."
"See you later, handsome."
CLOP. CLOP. CLOP.
The carriage rolled away.
"Did you really have to do that, Ris?"
"What kind of question is that? Of course I had to."
"…Whatever."
She leaned in slightly.
"Hmm. Thran, you smell good too."
"Thanks, I guess."
"Did you buy anything?"
"No. I'm going to order something later. And I'm going to purify the entire neighbourhood while I'm at it."
"Purify?"
"Let's go in."
"…Okay."
I held the door open.
"Go get a bath, Ris. You sme— just go."
"What were you going to say?"
"Nothing."
"I don't smell, so I'll just start cooking while you—"
"No. Wait. Don't."
She blinked.
"What? Why?"
"Just wait. I'll cook."
"…You?"
"Yes, me."
"I have a bad feeling about this."
I said nothing. Just smiled faintly and turned toward the kitchen.
She has no idea.
In the modern world, I'd spent years perfecting it. Not as a main pursuit — just a side hobby. Something quiet to come back to. I'd won an award once, though I'd never made a big deal of it.
This is my domain now.