Page 3 of A Match Made in Slumber

My exhaustion, sore back and blurred vision aside, a manic internal hum kept my pulse racing. I had largely abstained from sleeping all week, relying on a jar of powdered tempest-root my friend Fern had smuggled over—a herbal stimulant, just as effective as it was illegal. It made my blood buzz like a hive of angry hornets. My eyes might have felt as if I’d treated them to a sand bath, but victory tasted too sweet for me to care about the fatigue.

Leaning over the counter, I lined up my four new creations with care, admiring the neat row of future market favourites.

First, the Thread Ward. I cut it from pale, smooth birchwood and tipped it with a glossy, sunflower-yellow compound. Upon ignition, the spell generated a light, shimmering vapour. Swept over garments, it served as an invisible shield, keeping fabrics impeccable and protecting them from dirt and stubborn stains.

Next to it lay the Brimstone Burster, featuring a splint of dark, fragrant cedar and a black luminous head flecked with metallics. This one guaranteed a ferocious roar of hot sparks designed to clear out a clogged chimney in seconds.

Third came the Lost Property match, crafted from cherrywood with a shimmering, coral tip. Complex spellwork went into this one. Once struck, its smoke wouldn’t rise; instead, the coral tendrils would drift horizontally, acting as a compass needle pointing the owner towards whatever misplaced object they sought.

And finally, the crown jewel of my collection. The yet untested Match of Tranquillity.

Carved from a deep, purple-hearted ironwood, its tip had a rich, indigo sheen. A wave of hopeful excitement washed through me. I had high hopes for this little beauty.

In good spirits, I packed everything inside a satchel. All that remained for me to do now was write little strips of parchment with the product description, include individual friction strips, and tie the bundle to every single match with a ribbon. But that could wait until I got to my stall later that night.

The upcoming market promised to be an absolute breeze. With these new additions, I would make a staggering profit from the wealthy elven crowds. And after the busy days of trading, I would sleep like a tranquilised log without a care in the world.

Life felt great.

Disaster Strikes A Match

Timeline: Six hours until the opening of the Great Midsummer Market.

Elian

“The first rule of Alchemical Matchstick Making: ‘You do not use the same friction strip for different compounds.’ The second rule of Alchemical Matchstick Making: ‘You do not use the same friction strip for different compounds.’”

— Extract from Professor Canetti’s Introductory Lecture on Volatile Spell Ignitions, The High Academy of Elemental Magic, Law and Elemental Sciences in Emberleigh, Everend.

Iknew the cardinal rule, of course. Duh. I lived by it. Under any circumstances—no residue crossing. Ever. The words of Professor Canetti even featured on the wall of my workshop, embroidered onto a decorative tapestry. To be fair, I didn’t need a physical reminder—not after the minor explosion during my first semester at the Academy. It had taken three painful weeks for my eyebrows to grow back.

Nonetheless, the lecture lived as a motto within every responsible alchemist.

Yet, at twenty minutes past three in the morning, after lacking a restful night for days, mottos could feel remarkably fucking theoretical.

–Entry from Elian’s personal journal

The marketplace slept under a still, clear night sky, completely deserted save for the soft amber glow of the magical streetlamps spread between the shadows. Inside my stall, a string of whimsical fairy lanterns provided sufficient lighting above my head.

I stretched, the stiff vertebrae of my spine protesting with a dull crack. Having at last finished arranging my entire inventory onto the tiered displays, I stepped in front of my booth to admire my handiwork. Everything looked… well, maybe not immaculate, but acceptable, considering my subpar organisation skills. Either way, I knew that the next day Fern would describe my layout as a total fucking mess and ask his sister, Settie, to redo the whole lot. For the time being, however, the critical detail remained: every single matchstick ready for sale occupied its proper place on the counter, any wonky alignments notwithstanding.

With some hours to spare, I refused to let the fact that my stall would never win a beauty pageant ruin my mood. Damn right, I allowed myself a wave of smug satisfaction at having beaten my deadline.

Glancing up at the clock tower, I couldn’t deny my exhaustion. Dawn would arrive in a couple of hours. It wasn’t worth walking back home now, not when I would have to turn right around and trek back before sunrise. I needed to hoard whatever energy I could muster to run the counter all day. No, taking a quick, dreamless nap right here in the stall chair seemed less like a luxury and more like a necessity. And a perfect opportunity to test my new shiny Match of Tranquillity.

I slouched into my seat, reached into my satchel and pulled out the paraphernalia.

While traces of Fern’s herbal enhancer still lingered in my blood, sending slight tremors through my hands, its stimulating effect had mostly vanished. My reactions slowed to a crawl, as if I were moving through air filled with thick snow-cone syrup. Heavy pressure pulsated around my temples and I had to fight my eyelids to keep them unglued.

I let my fingers grab the closest friction card within reach. My groggy mind didn’t even question if it was fresh and pristine. I assumed so without a second thought. I’d used one other strip that night for lighting the Match of Lost Property—to locate my account ledger, misplaced beneath the pile of display stands. Convinced I’d thrown that spent one away, I didn’t examine the card’s surface closely.

I didn’t care to double-check the counter. I just wanted to strike the bloody thing and go to sleep.

Having brought the indigo head down against the card, I struck it hard.

The match didn’t ignite with a gentle, soothing flame as it should have done.

I didn’t even have a chance to blink. It felt as though someone had cast a heavy shroud over my head and switched off my senses. The force of the Tranquillity enchantment hit like a physical blow. Before I could even register that something had gone wrong, I collapsed backwards into the chair, plunging into instant nothingness.