Under the cover of the night, Robert ran.
The Prime Vestige underneath his arm kept reciting sonnets. Whether they were original or someone else's work plucked from the world's Akashic Records, he never knew. Drenched in sweat, he only stopped when he alighted on the steps of the Archhuman Trading Association, or ATA for short.
Archhumans came in all varieties and flavors. Some were diurnal, some were nocturnal, and a few were active every moment of the day, never sleeping. Their powers were as diverse as the stars in the sky. Said powers' usefulness and potency also varied wildly. A few made their users instant powerhouses, and others were utterly useless.
The Golden Poet, as Robert called the one his parents intended for him, was in the middle. Not very useful for combat, but capable of granting a person a good living wage. Robert didn't want to fight. Archhumans who delved into passages had a heinous mortality rate. He'd rather stay home and write, but not even that was allowed anymore. He couldn't write because of his anxiety and didn't have a home anymore.
Robert approached the gates of the twenty-fifth district, the section of the city where the ATA headquarters could be found. A well-dressed bald guard blocked the gate.
“Please provide verification or reason for entry.”
Were Robert on a normal day, he'd be wearing clean clothes, shaved, and with his ID card proving he was not one of those district twenty-one hobos. But right now, as he was, even the district twenty-one lowlifes smelled and looked better than he. Gathering what was left of his wits, he made eye contact with the guard.
"I have business with the ATA."
"Look, kid..."
Robert raised the box in front of him.
"I have an appointment with an ATA Prime broker. I am... disguised. Do you know how valuable the goods I'm carrying are? Are you sure you want the insurance company coming after you for stalling me and having it robbed?"
He lifted the lid. A little bit of golden light escaped and the Golden Poet declaimed a few verses. It was a liability because the guard could now testify he came in with the vestige. But Robert would be the prime suspect for its theft anyway. However, once it was in the hands of the ATA, it would be no longer his problem. Nobody messed with the ATA and the organization didn't ask for receipts. Forget nine-tenths, for the ATA possession was 100% of the law.
The guard waved him inside. Robert hurried past the gate, cringing that the guard clamped on his nose because of his BO. The night walk made wonders for his mind and he was thinking clearer than any day since his parent's death. He spared a moment to consider what he was doing but he was already too deep in to stop. Relishing on the Sunken Cost Fallacy's sweet lies, he reached the building.
Despite being open, it was rather empty. Nocturnal Archs weren't the majority by far. The front of the building opened to a large square, paved in marble, with dozens of golden orbs floating about ten feet above the ground. These orbs bathed the marble in a soft golden light, highlighting the quartz veins in the stone.
He walked down a path toward the majestic steps of the ATA headquarters. As he moved, a man dressed like a butler made eye contact with him and nodded.
Robert stopped. The butler was an ATA employee, he was sure of it. Moving with the grace of a dancer and the speed of an athlete, the butler approached in the time Robert took to breathe thrice.
"Good evening, good sir," he greeted Robert with a faint but friendly smile. "Do you have business with the Association?"
"Yes. I'm here to trade a Prime Vestige," Robert answered with all the confidence he could muster. While the butler was not even trying to be intimidating, he had no doubt the man was capable of turning him into meat paste with a flick of his finger.
"Excellent. Do you require assistance?"
Robert nodded, "I do. Could I borrow one of those sealing boxes?"
"Absolutely. In fact, I have one right here."
The butler produced a small glass box out of nowhere. Robert tried not to think too much of it. Archhumans had a plethora of strange abilities, and that was before you considered special items and contraptions. Robert took the Golden Poet out of the gift box and transferred the reciting bard into the box. As the lid closed, silence reigned.
"A marvelous specimen you seem to have there," the Butler remarked.
Only then did Robert notice the Butler was close enough to smell him but made no remark. "Is there any consultant I can talk to?" He asked.
"Certainly. Please, follow me into the building."
As Robert crossed the marble square after the Butler, he noticed some dust flaking off of his clothes and body. It felt like sand and he brushed his forearms together to scrape this powder off of him. Some of it fell down from his scalp and he breathed it in.
Robert sneezed, jerking and haphazardly tossing the box in the air. He gasped as he imagined how expensive that item should be. Fortunately for him, the butler took a step to the side and caught it on the descent with grace and aplomb.
He got back on his feet and dusted himself. And oh, boy, dust fell down from him in cascades. Robert was baffled. A glance at the Butler showed a stoic but friendly face, patiently waiting for him. "Excuse me," Robert said and took a step to the side, running his fingers across his hair, and shaking his clothes. He was feeling refreshed as if he had taken... Robert raised an eyebrow and looked at the butler.
The man smirked and winked. "Much better not, right, sir?"
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
"Yes, thank you," Robert nodded.
Had the butler dry-cleaned him? As they resumed their walk across the marble square, Robert sniffed himself. His BO was gone. Glancing behind him, he saw the impeccably clean square. All the dust he'd shed was gone.
Inside, the Butler pointed him to a booth as he handed Robert the box back. The Golden Bard's mouth was still moving but no sound reached his ears.
"You will find a consultant behind doors fourteen to thirty-seven. Find one with a green light above it," the man said before he took his leave.
Robert walked down the main hallway of the ATA. The building was lavish, stylish, and well-decorated. Paintings of noteworthy Archhumans dotted the walls. Sculpted columns held the ceiling and the air was cool and refreshing.
Only one door had a green light. He approached it.
"Enter," someone called from inside before Robert had even touched the door.
Robert took a deep breath and turned the knob. A thick cloud of smoke assaulted his nostrils, carrying with it a deep smell of tobacco.
A handsome man sitting on a luxurious leather chair stared at him, a Cuban cigar between his fingers. "Don't wait forever at the door, come in and take a seat," he said with a rough, deep voice full of vocal fry.
Robert crossed the threshold, closed the door behind him, and sat on the indicated spot.
"I assume you are here to trade or sell this vestige?" The man asked with a raptorial glare. He wiggled his fingers in a "give it to me" motion.
Robert obliged. The man opened the lid and the Golden Bard started to recite a poem from the start.
"Poetry? What are your powers, vestige? Affinities?"
The orb repeated what it had said before. The man stared at Robert as he pulled deep on his cigar.
"Trade or sell?" He asked, no, demanded. Robert thought the man was very overbearing. "Do you know what you want?"
"A combat vestige."
"Fine. Magic, melee, support, agility, strength, what kind?"
"Balanced one."
"Crap, you mean. Look, lad. I'll be honest with you. I thought you knew what you wanted. You entered with confidence, you didn't seem like one of those pussies who lucked out on a vestige and were timid enough to seize power." He tapped the box. "The one you got is useless for combat but I think I can get a good price on it. Hell, I know I can get at least a couple million on it. That's why I'm going to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime. Here."
He took a gray ball with a blank expression on its face.
"This is a vestige with three of the most coveted affinities ever. Go ahead, you know what to do."
Robert touched the gray ball. "Vestige, what are your powers?"
"A hundred parts ye may live, ninety-nine ye shall spend in a liminal space!" It proclaimed.
"The hell?" Robert cursed.
"We are calling it one percent in real life," the trader said in his croaking movie trailer narrator voice. "The power is good, but check this out. Its affinities."
Robert asked and couldn't help but go slack-jawed. Not only three affinities but some very powerful-sounding ones. "But what is a liminal space?" He asked.
"It could be one of many things. The hallway you crossed to reach my office is a liminal space. The time one spends between a divorce and the next marriage is a liminal space. What our expert analysts conjecture is that this is a pocket dimension. Think of it. You'll have the power to withdraw to a pocket dimension all to yourself, along with three very powerful affinities."
"The deal seems too good," Robert retorted.
"Because it is! I'll be a hundred percent honest with you, kid. We don't know what all this hundred-parts-to-one-part bullshit is. This is a shot in the dark. It might mean you will be banished to that liminal space right after fusing with the vestige. It could mean extending your life by a factor of one hundred. People with the kind of money to buy this vestige aren't willing to risk it, three kickass affinities or not. So take it or leave it."
Robert hesitated. His parents had picked the perfect Prime for him. He couldn't imagine a more perfect power.
Sensing he was losing his customer and the last chance to seal the deal and trade the useless Prime, the broker used one last-ditch maneuver.
"Look, I'll do you a solid. I'll throw in fifteen thousand dollars, a few sets of clothes and shoes, and a free consultation with one of our coaching specialists. On the priority queue. You'll get it now instead of, say, three months later. We have a lot on Life, a little on Space, and almost nothing on Void. But what we have is yours."
Robert knew he was on borrowed time. If he became an Arch, he could leverage the power he had. Even if they pushed himself into slavery, an Arch would be treated better than a mortal. And he could always focus on the Life affinity and become a healer. Most teams would kill for a healer.
"I'll take it."
"Good," the trader sounded relieved as he took a deep pull on his Cuban.
Robert took his new Prime Vestige and left with instructions on how to get his consultation.
*
*
Days later:
----------------------------------------
The VP of sales grinned from ear to ear. "I can't believe you pulled it off on the last day!"
It wasn't the last day, but the trader wouldn't dare to correct the VP.
"Was it luck?"
"There's a bit of luck in every action, sir. I believe the ability to seize those opportunities presented by Lady Luck is what skill is made of, sir."
The VP guffawed. "I couldn't have said it any better, son! Now, straight to business. We are intending to start a new sales department for exotic and difficult-to-sell Prime Vestiges. I want you to be the head of this new department. But to prove yourself worthy of this promotion..."
Here it comes, the man thought.
"We want you to sell or trade this Vestige here," he produced another red face stretched around a ball.
The trader asked about the vestige's power.
"Hundred parts adultery ye commit, one part true affection ye shall find!"
He fought not to cringe.
"A riot, isn't it? I'm calling this one 'One-Percent Wife-Steal'!"
"Marvelous, sir."
The trader took the vestige and went back to his office.
*
*
One month later:
----------------------------------------
"You once again came through, on the last day. Say, son? Do you wait until the last day or..."
"Never, sir."
"I believe you!" The VP laughed. "Congratulations, you are now the head of your own department! But I never thought I'd see the day a philanderer Arch would roam the land."
"I don't think he'll use 'One-Percent Wife-Steal' that way, sir. Our analysts believe the affection is rather random and not exclusive to the adulterous wife."
"Be it as it may, it's no longer our problem."
"Indeed, sir."
The VP produced another Prime Vestige. They went through the hoops to find its power.
"One hundred parts cutlery ye abscond with, one part it shall truly belong to you."
"What's this jewel's name?" The trader asked, trying to hide his sarcasm.
The VP almost made the jazz hands. "One Percent Knife-Steal!"
"It is as good as sold, sir."
*
*
Two months later:
----------------------------------------
"And our magical boy did it again!" The VP of sales said to the gathered executives.
"I was impressed that the Prime granted the power to make the knives part of the Arch's body permanently." One Executive said.
"Definitely deadly if he can find some good knives." Another added.
"Congratulations are in order. Welcome to the managerial track," A balding executive with pointed hair on the sides of his head said.
They clapped in raucous applause. The trader, now head of his own sales department, nodded and smiled in thanks.
"Now, we have one for you that might be easier to sell than the others," the VP said. "You deserve some respite, son."
"Thank you, sir."
They unveiled the Prime Vestige. It said, "One hundred parts ye might live, one part shall be forever engraved in glorious cinematographic celluloid!"
"Any affectionate appellation for this one, sir?" The department head asked.
"One-Percent Life Reel!"
Some days, the man wished he had remained a lowly trader, raking millions out of unsuspecting idiots who wanted a combat Prime.