197 BTFOM – 162 BTFOM: The Birth of the Flow Trade
With knowledge and craft in hand, Damian’s next step was movement. Staying in one place drew suspicion — but a travelling merchant? No one questioned a man who never stayed long enough for trouble to find him.
He gathered a small caravan of wanderers — a few tinkers, an apothecary, and a pair of sellswords more loyal to gold than law. They painted their wagons bright and mismatched, carrying everything from spices and silks to glassware and bottled perfumes. But beneath false bottoms and hidden compartments lay the truth of Damian’s trade: contraband magic.
Minor enchanted trinkets, unregistered potions, scraps of forbidden runes — small enough to smuggle, powerful enough to inspire hope. Damian sold them not for power, but for balance. The world had outlawed magic; he intended to remind it that wonder could never truly die.
Each night, his caravan set up at the edge of a new town. By day, he sold legitimate goods — oils, soaps, perfumes, fine gloves — and by night, his trusted customers whispered the password:
“Does the flame still burn?”
To which Damian always smiled and answered,
“Only for those who can see it.”
Flarereen often appeared in the glow of his campfire, curious and amused by his clever rebellion.
“You could rule kingdoms with my power,” she teased.
“I’d rather light candles in the dark,” he replied.
Over the years, the Flow Trade became legend among those who needed hope — a moving market of forbidden things that could never be caught.
Damian never kept one route for long. He travelled from desert to coast, from forest to mountain, always vanishing before the authorities arrived. To some, he was a saint; to others, a criminal.
But to those who met him beneath moonlight, he was simply the fox who sold fire to the fearful.