Gozu paced the length of the ornate sitting room, his frustration mounting.
"We have until sundown. If we don't deliver the pure mana by then, the collectors from the fifth floor will come knocking. And they won't be polite about it."
He muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
His servant, a nervous-looking half-elf barely older than a teenager, wrung his hands.
"What will we do, Lord Gozu? We don't have enough, and the black market's dry. They'll ruin us."
Gozu flopped into the nearest armchair, groaning.
"They won't just ruin us. They'll make an example out of us. Especially me."
Before the servant could respond, a third voice—low, calm, and unfamiliar—cut through the room.
"I might have a solution for your little problem."
Gozu leapt to his feet, his servant nearly stumbling in panic.
