Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes

After working for a while on the items that needed repairs, Ivaim straightened up, brushing the dust from his hands.

The quiet creak of the door opening drew his attention, and he instinctively turned his head toward the sound.

'Customers? Is it the private ones that Maris told me about?'

The thought crossed his mind as he moved toward the counter, his movements steady but casual. As he reached the front, his eyes fell on the two figures who had just entered.

The first was a tall man with a stern demeanor, his sharp features framed by a well-groomed beard. He was dressed in a formal suit, the kind that looked out of place in the humble workshop. His posture was rigid, every movement deliberate.

Beside him stood a boy, around twelve years old, with the same wavy black hair as the man. The boy's clothes were neat but less formal—a simple dark jacket and trousers.

The resemblance between them was unmistakable, though the boy's expression was far less imposing.

It was Reves.

Ivaim's sharp eyes took in the scene in an instant. He felt a flicker of surprise when his gaze landed on Reves, but he buried it quickly, his expression remaining calm and composed.

"Welcome," he said, his voice carrying its usual steady tone, though it held a subtle hint of extra politeness.

The tall man gave him a curt nod but said nothing, his eyes scanning the workshop with cool detachment.

Reves, however, looked directly at Ivaim. For a brief moment, Reves' eyes widened, recognition flashing across his face like a spark.

But just as quickly as it appeared, the boy's expression shifted. His features smoothed into neutrality, almost too quickly to seem natural, as if he had carefully decided on a course of action in that fleeting instant.

Reves turned his head slightly, feigning interest in a nearby shelf cluttered with small tools and trinkets. He ran a finger along the edge of a dusty item, as though studying it intently, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

Ivaim's gaze lingered on Reves for a heartbeat longer than it should have, his sharp eyes catching the subtle movements that others might overlook.

'So, he does remember me,'

Ivaim thought, noting the boy's deliberate attempt to act indifferent. He kept his expression calm and his voice steady, unwilling to give away that he'd noticed. If Reves wanted to play this game, Ivaim would humor him—for now.

"How can I help you?" Ivaim asked smoothly, his tone polite but neutral as he turned his attention to the tall man.

The man didn't bother with pleasantries. His dark eyes scanned Ivaim briefly before he said curtly.

"Harvin. Bring him out."

The man's commanding tone didn't faze Ivaim, who had grown accustomed to dealing with difficult personalities. He raised an eyebrow slightly, his expression betraying nothing, and called out toward the back.

"Harvin! Someone's here for you."

There was a shuffle of movement from the back room, followed by a gruff voice laced with irritation.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. No need to shout."

Harvin emerged a moment later, wiping grease off his hands with a stained rag. The older man had a permanent scowl etched onto his weathered face, and his eyes narrowed as he took in the visitors.

"So," Harvin said gruffly, crossing his arms. "It was you who requested a private meeting. Why keep it anonymous?"

The tall man straightened slightly, his tone low and cautious.

"We're hiding from someone." He paused, glancing briefly toward Ivaim before continuing. "I'm here to get more of what you have downstairs."

His words were vague, but there was a weight to them, as if he were intentionally withholding details from Ivaim, who he clearly didn't trust.

Harvin's eyes narrowed further.

"Downstairs?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You're asking for dangerous goods, my friend. What's this about?"

The man's jaw tightened.

"I've already explained enough. Let's just say we're pressed for time. Can you help or not?"

Harvin grunted but didn't push further. He gestured for the man to follow him, his tone as blunt as ever.

"Alright, fine. Follow me. Let's see what you're after."

Before stepping away, the tall man turned to Reves, his stern gaze softening slightly.

"Stay here," he instructed firmly, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

Reves nodded wordlessly, his expression carefully neutral as he avoided looking directly at Ivaim. The tall man disappeared into the back with Harvin, leaving the room wrapped in tense silence.

Ivaim leaned against the counter, arms folded, his sharp gaze pinned on Reves. The boy, still pretending to examine the shelf, shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his stare.

"You've gotten better at hiding things," Ivaim said, his voice low, breaking the stillness.

Reves turned slowly, a grin spreading across his face, his earlier pretense vanishing in an instant.

"Hello again, Mr. Bodyguard!" he said with a bright, almost exaggerated cheerfulness.

Ivaim's eyebrows rose slightly, unimpressed by the sudden shift in tone.

"You're not subtle, you know."

Reves laughed, a little too loudly, before lowering his voice.

"The coin you gave me… thanks for that. I passed the trial the Reality Master gave me." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Does that mean you're his walker too?"

Ivaim's expression didn't change, but a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. He sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Yes," he admitted, keeping his voice steady. "But keep it to yourself, alright? That's not something to go announcing."

Reves nodded quickly, his grin faltering for a moment.

"Don't worry, Uncle. Dad would probably kill me if he found out anyway."

Ivaim's lips twitched, caught somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. "Stop calling me uncle," he said flatly.@@novelbin@@

"But you kind of are!" Reves countered, his grin returning full force. "I mean, you're old, and you're looking out for me in your weird, grumpy way. That's uncle material."

Ivaim stared at him for a long moment, unamused.

"I'm not old," he said at last, his tone as dry as dust.

Reves waved a hand dismissively. "Alright, not old. Seasoned. Like fine cheese."