The market was alive with noise and chaos, a cacophony of voices shouting over one another as merchants hawked their wares from ramshackle stalls. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, sweat, and something vaguely metallic—a scent Vigdis couldn’t quite place but didn’t trust. The Burgh was a far cry from the wilderness she was used to. Here, the dangers weren’t ambushes or beasts but sharp-tongued merchants and clever hands eager to part her from her belongings.
She stood at a cluttered stall displaying rows of crossbow bolts in varying states of repair. The merchant, a wiry man with a patchy beard and a sly glint in his eyes, leaned casually on the counter, watching her with a practiced ease. Vigdis didn’t flinch under his gaze, her attention focused on the bolts. Her magical ones were too precious to waste on anything less than a life-or-death fight, and the wilderness was rarely short on less. Simple bolts were practical, expendable, and wouldn’t leave her kicking herself for wasting resources on a raider or some wild beast.
“These,” Vigdis said, pointing to a neat bundle of twenty bolts with iron tips. “How much?”
The merchant’s grin widened, and he tilted his head as if considering her question carefully. “For a discerning buyer like you? Fifty shards.”
Vigdis’s green eyes narrowed. “Fifty? That’s ridiculous.”
“Ah, but you’re paying for quality,” the merchant said smoothly, picking up one of the bolts and holding it aloft like a prize. “These aren’t your average scrap. Sturdy shafts, balanced tips, guaranteed not to splinter under pressure. You won’t find better in the Burgh, I promise you.”
Vigdis crossed her arms, unimpressed. “I could buy a whole quiver of decent bolts for less.”
The merchant let out a theatrical sigh, setting the bolt down with exaggerated care. “You’re not wrong about cheaper options, but let me tell you why those are a gamble. These bolts come from the Wornwood—dangerous territory, full of raiders and worse. Do you know how many traders don’t make it back with their goods?” He tapped the counter meaningfully. “You’re paying for survival. For reliability.”
“Sounds like you’re paying yourself,” Vigdis said, her tone dry. She reached for the bolts again, studying their craftsmanship. They were good. Not spectacular, but good.
The merchant smiled, leaning closer. “Look, I get it. You’re a smart buyer. You know value when you see it. So, for you, I’ll drop it to forty shards. But that’s as low as I can go. Honest.”
Vigdis hesitated, her mind churning. Forty shards was still steep. Her instincts told her to walk away, to keep looking. But the bolts were solid, and she didn’t want to waste time haggling all day.
“Thirty,” she said finally, her voice firm.
The merchant tilted his head, considering. “Thirty? For these? You’re killing me, lady.” He spread his hands in mock despair. “Fine. Thirty. But you’re robbing me blind.”
She reached for her pouch, but he held up a hand, his grin sharpening. “Quick, though. I’ve got a few others sniffing around for bolts like these. If you want them, now’s your chance.”
Vigdis scowled, her hand already in her pouch. This feels wrong, she thought, but she hated wasting time. The soft glow of the Cleansing Shards spilled over her fingers as she counted them out. Thirty shards felt like a punch to her gut as she handed them over.
The merchant scooped the shards into a metal box, the faint chiming sound of their glowing energy making her stomach tighten. “Pleasure doing business,” he said brightly, wrapping the bolts in a strip of cloth and passing them across the counter.
Vigdis slung the bolts into her quiver and turned to leave, her jaw tight. As she stepped away, the numbers gnawed at her mind. Thirty shards. For bolts.
She paused, glancing back at the merchant. He was already talking to another buyer, his sly grin firmly in place.
“Ah, well,” she muttered, shaking her head and walking away. “I’ll scavenge more anyway.”
As she moved back into the bustling market, she made a mental note to avoid the stall in the future. Survival wasn’t just about strength and skill; it was about learning from your mistakes. And next time, she’d be damned if she let some wiry little man grin her out of her shards.
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The crowd at the market shifted and churned around Vigdis as she scanned the stalls. She had just finished her bartering, feeling the sting of overpaying for bolts, when her gaze landed on a familiar figure standing at a stall further down. Elias.
He stood out as sharply as the last time she’d seen him. His patchy beard and perpetually smug grin were the same, though his coat looked a little more tattered. Around his neck hung that same faintly glowing amulet, its pulsing light subtle but unmistakable. The sight of it sent a jolt through her memory, dredging up the outpost he had pointed her toward and the fight for survival it had led to.
She clenched her fists, her shoulders squaring. If the man noticed her staring, he didn’t show it, too busy haggling with a nervous-looking merchant. Vigdis began making her way toward him, her tall frame cutting through the crowd with ease. She had questions, and this time, she wasn’t going to leave without answers.
But before she could reach him, a shout rang out across the market.
“Scourrats are back!”
The cry was followed by a flurry of activity as traders and patrons alike turned toward the commotion. Vigdis’s path to Elias was immediately blocked by the shifting mass of people. Her jaw tightened, and she glanced around, trying to assess the situation.
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The market was louder and busier than anything Jenny had ever seen. She clutched the pommel of Ember’s saddle as the dragonhorse plodded forward. Reed sat behind her, his relaxed posture a sharp contrast to her wide-eyed vigilance.
“Scourrats?” Jenny asked, her voice barely audible over the din.
Reed followed her gaze to the sudden commotion. “Looks like we’ve got a welcome party.”
Jenny tilted her head, puzzled. “Welcome party?”
He smirked. “That’s what they call us—Scourrats.”
Jenny twisted slightly in her seat to look back at him. “Why?”
Reed shrugged casually. “Because we scavenge, survive, and generally annoy the hell out of everyone. We’re pests to most folks here.”
Jenny’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound... flattering.”
“It’s not meant to be,” Reed said, his grin widening. “But it’s accurate enough. Besides, better a Scourrat than dead.”
Jenny’s eyes darted back toward the commotion as she tried to reconcile the chaos with Reed’s flippant tone. The people were clearly on edge, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take for her presence to add to their unease.
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The market spread across the shattered grounds of what had once been an amusement park. Rusting skeletons of merry-go-rounds and roller coasters loomed overhead, their twisted metal frames casting long, jagged shadows across the bustling scene. The air was thick with a mix of smoke, sweat, and the faint, acrid tang of burning refuse. Somewhere, a faint jingle of distorted old-world music wheezed from a broken speaker, its cheerful tones warped and eerie.
Jenny sat stiffly on Ember’s saddle, her eyes wide as she took it all in. The sheer chaos of the place was overwhelming. Stalls made from scavenged wood, scrap metal, and even bits of fiberglass jostled for space along the cracked walkways. Merchants shouted over one another, their voices a cacophony as they hawked wares ranging from bundles of mismatched arrows to jars of questionable liquids that glowed faintly in the dim light.
A man passed by wearing an oversized pirate hat, the faded Jolly Roger on the brim barely visible beneath layers of grime. Another merchant had a cracked, old-world astronaut helmet perched on his head, the faceplate missing but still lending him an oddly imposing air as he gestured animatedly to a prospective buyer.
“There’s a lot of... stuff here,” Jenny muttered, her voice tinged with equal parts awe and unease.
“That’s the Burgh for you,” Reed said from behind her, his tone casual. “You can find just about anything if you look hard enough. And if you don’t look hard enough, someone will happily sell you junk anyway.”
The ground beneath Ember’s hooves was uneven, littered with broken shards of glass and chunks of concrete. Brightly colored tents and tarps were strung up between the remains of old-world attractions, their patched surfaces flapping in the breeze. A faded sign reading “Funland” tilted precariously above one of the larger structures, its lettering half-erased by time and the elements.
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The people were as much a mix of old and new as the setting. Some wore scraps of leather and scavenged metal armor, practical but crude. Others had stitched together outfits from remnants of old-world clothing, giving them a ragged, mismatched look. Among them were flashes of surreal whimsy: a merchant in a tattered clown costume, a woman with a shimmering sequined cape, and a man wearing what looked like the lower half of a suit of knight’s armor paired with a modern trench coat.
And then there were the women.
Jenny couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast. Some women carried themselves with a kind of dignity, their clothes practical but neat, their faces clean despite the harshness of the world around them. Others, however, wore little more than strips of cloth, their skin streaked with dirt and sweat. They lounged near the edges of the market, their movements slow and inviting as they watched the crowd with practiced eyes.
What caught her attention most wasn’t the lack of clothing but the paint. Their skin was adorned with tribal patterns, bright swirls and jagged lines painted in deep reds, blacks, and whites. Some designs were stark and angular, cutting across their torsos in sharp, geometric shapes. Others were intricate and flowing, curling around their shoulders and down their arms like living tattoos. The paint shimmered faintly, as though it had been mixed with crushed shards of Cleansing crystals.
Jenny’s gaze lingered on one such group—topless, their matted hair framing faces that were both tired and sharp. They leaned against crumbling walls, their smiles slow and knowing as they watched the crowd. The paint on one woman’s chest spiraled outward from her collarbone, each line terminating in a small circle that glowed faintly in the dim light. Another had her ribs and stomach adorned with jagged, claw-like streaks of black.
Reed’s voice broke her focus. “Don’t stare too long. They’ll think you’re interested.”
Jenny flushed, jerking her eyes away. “I wasn’t— I mean, I just—”
“It’s fine,” Reed said, the amusement in his tone clear. “They’re part of the place. Just like everything else.”
Ember snorted, her hooves clicking against the ground as Reed guided her forward. Jenny focused on the motion of the dragonhorse beneath her, using it as an excuse to avoid the chaos around her.
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Jenny slid off Ember’s saddle, her boots hitting the uneven ground with a faint thud. She steadied herself, her left hand gripping the saddle for balance before stepping back to let Reed dismount. He gave Ember a reassuring pat before leading the dragonhorse to a nearby hitching post—a crude contraption made of scavenged metal bars and lengths of chain.
Jenny, meanwhile, stood frozen for a moment, her eyes darting from one chaotic scene to another. Merchants hollered, children darted between the stalls, and the mix of smells—food, sweat, smoke—was almost overpowering. Every few seconds, something new caught her attention: a stall selling strange trinkets made of bones, a woman wearing what looked like a bridal gown made entirely of scrap fabric, or a man balancing precariously on a crumbling wall to shout his sales pitch over the din.
“Less gawking, more business,” Laura’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and impatient.
Jenny barely had time to process the comment before Laura walked past her, delivering a deliberate shoulder bump as she did. The force made Jenny stumble slightly, her brows knitting together in irritation.
“What’s her problem?” Jenny muttered under her breath.
“She’s just Laura,” Reed said with a shrug, tying off Ember’s reins and glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t take it personally.”
Jenny didn’t respond, her attention already pulled back to the chaos of the market. But the mood shifted again as a figure emerged from the crowd, striding toward them with an air of authority that cut through the noise like a blade.
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The first thing Jenny noticed about him was his presence. He didn’t just walk—he commanded the space around him. Broad shoulders filled his well-worn jacket, and his steps were measured, deliberate. His square jaw was shadowed with the perfect amount of stubble, like he hadn’t shaved in two days but somehow made it look intentional. His dark hair was short but not military-precise, with a faint wave that softened his sharp features. And his eyes—dark and piercing—seemed to take in everything with calm, quiet confidence.
He was older than Reed, but not old. Late thirties, maybe early forties. The kind of man who seemed like he’d never been a boy, who had always been exactly as he was now: capable, solid, and unyielding.
Jenny swallowed, suddenly aware of how small she felt in his presence. She glanced at Reed, but he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, there was a flicker of tension in his stance, like a student suddenly remembering they were about to be graded.
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“Laura,” the man greeted as he approached, his voice deep and smooth but carrying a weight that demanded attention.
“Boss,” Laura replied with a small nod, her tone more respectful than Jenny had ever heard from her. She stopped in her tracks, waiting for him to meet her halfway.
The two exchanged a brief handshake, and for a moment, the noise of the market seemed to dull around them. The man’s gaze swept over the group, his expression unreadable but sharp.
“You’re late,” he said, though there was no heat in his tone.
“Yeah, well, we ran into some complications,” Laura replied, her usual sharpness muted in his presence. “But we’re here. Got plenty to unload.”
His dark eyes flicked to Reed, then to Jenny. He didn’t say anything immediately, but Jenny felt the weight of his gaze, assessing, calculating. She resisted the urge to shrink under it.
“And this?” he asked, his focus lingering on Jenny.
“Part of the complications,” Laura said simply, glancing at Reed with a look that said she wasn’t planning on explaining further.
The man’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but close. “Complications,” he repeated, as if testing the word. His gaze returned to Jenny, and she felt like he could see right through her.
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Vigdis lingered near the edge of the market, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd. She adjusted her quiver, the weight of the newly purchased bolts still nagging at her. Thirty shards? Really? she thought, irritation flickering across her face. She should’ve known better—should’ve dealt with someone reliable.
Her gaze stopped on a familiar figure cutting through the chaos. Broad shoulders, a confident stride, and an air of authority that made people instinctively step out of his way. Drennavar.
“Huh,” Vigdis muttered to herself, leaning slightly against the pole of a derelict stall. “Didn’t know Drennavar had a crew.” Her green eyes flicked to the group near him—three rough-looking types, all clearly used to the grind of survival, and then... one who wasn’t.
The girl stood out like a candle in the dark. Blonde hair, short and messy, light grey eyes wide as they darted nervously around the market. Even from this distance, Vigdis noticed the awkward way the girl shifted her balance, her left hand clinging to her gear in a way that betrayed uncertainty. And the missing arm—cleanly gone from the shoulder—was impossible to miss.
She doesn’t belong here, Vigdis thought. The dirt and chaos of the Burgh clung to everyone else, but not to her. In the dragonhorse’s shadow, the girl looked small. Fragile. Out of place.
Her gaze shifted back to Drennavar. It made sense, she supposed. Someone like him would have a network, a crew to handle the dirty work while he stayed above it. Should’ve dealt with him instead of that smug bastard by the bolts stall, she thought. Would’ve saved some shards—and my patience.
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Vigdis shook her head, snapping herself out of the idle thought. Her focus returned to her original goal. Elias. She turned sharply, heading back toward the stall where she’d seen him earlier.
But the spot was empty.
Her pace quickened as she scanned the surrounding stalls, her green eyes sharp as they swept over the crowd. Elias had been there—she was certain of it. His patchy beard, that smug grin, the glowing amulet that had burned itself into her memory. He wouldn’t just vanish, not without a reason.
Except he already had.
Vigdis’s lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she stood motionless in the shifting tide of the market. The crowd surged and churned around her, oblivious to her frustration. Elias was gone. Just like that.
“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, turning away from the empty space. “Figures.”
Her grip on her axe tightened briefly before she forced herself to relax. Elias wasn’t the type to stay in one place for long. She’d find him. She always did.
But for now, there were other things to consider. Her eyes flicked once more to Drennavar and his mismatched crew before she turned back into the swirling chaos of the Burgh, letting herself disappear into the crowd.
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Jenny’s attention flitted nervously across the bustling market, her eyes catching glimpses of strange and unfamiliar sights. Amid the chaos, her gaze landed on a figure that made her pause.
The woman was enormous, towering over the crowd with a muscular build that seemed almost carved from stone. Her black hair was tied back, and her gear looked both functional and well-worn, the kind of equipment that belonged to someone who knew how to survive. The tall woman turned and walked away, disappearing into the throng with the ease of someone who didn’t need to watch her back.
Jenny blinked, her stomach twisting slightly. There was something about the woman—her presence, her confidence—that struck her. She looked over her shoulder at Reed, but he seemed preoccupied with something Drennavar was saying. Shrugging off the odd feeling, she fell back in line as the group moved forward.
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The noise of the market began to fade as Drennavar led them to a quieter area. Looming ahead was an enormous structure—a faded circus tent that had once been a vibrant red. Now it was dull and patched in places, the color muted to a muddy brown by years of exposure. The tent’s flaps hung slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of its cavernous interior.
Inside, the air was cooler and slightly musty, the dim light filtering through small holes in the canvas ceiling. The ground was littered with faint traces of old sawdust, as if the echoes of its former life still lingered. Drennavar strode to the center, gesturing for them to follow.
Reed fell into step, his usual swagger slightly muted in the presence of the older man. Laura, ever watchful, scanned the surroundings while Chan adjusted the strap of his satchel, his wiry frame hunched as if protecting its contents.
Jenny followed, her grip tightening briefly on her rifle. She glanced at it as they walked, the familiar weight a small comfort amid the strangeness of this place. The lever-action rifle wasn’t as pristine as it had been when she left the bunker. The redwood stock was scuffed, its lacquer faded, but it still carried the sharp precision her people valued. It was hers, the one thing she still trusted without question.
In contrast, Reed’s rifle, slung casually over his back, looked like a patchwork of parts barely held together. She’d caught glimpses of its old-world origins—the bolt-action frame of a Mosin-Nagant—but the rest was unmistakably handmade. His confidence in it baffled her.
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“So,” Drennavar said, his deep voice breaking the silence as he turned to face them. “What’s the job?”
Reed didn’t hesitate. “We need gear. Ammo, supplies, maybe some backup bolts for the little one here.” He nodded toward Jenny, who bristled slightly at the nickname.
Laura folded her arms. “Bullets aren’t cheap.”
“Not for you, maybe,” Reed shot back with a grin. “I make my own.”
“That monstrosity?” Chan muttered, glancing at Reed’s rifle. “I’m amazed it doesn’t blow up in your face.”
“Hasn’t yet,” Reed replied, unfazed.
Drennavar’s eyes flicked to Jenny. “And what about her?”
Jenny hesitated but didn’t speak. Reed answered for her, tapping her rifle with a faintly amused expression. “This beauty? She’s a picky eater. Lever-action. Needs the good stuff. We’ll need a stash of old-world rounds just in case.”
Drennavar nodded, his gaze shifting to Chan. “And you?”
Chan rummaged in his satchel, pulling out a worn piece of paper. He unfolded it carefully, revealing a rough blueprint. “I’ve got an idea for her,” he said, pointing to a sketched harness and shoulder armor. “Something to balance the load, maybe stabilize her aim. It’s a start, anyway.”
Jenny frowned, studying the design. “Will it work?”
Chan shrugged. “Depends. Gotta find the parts first.”
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As the discussion continued, a pair of hands slipped around Reed’s arms from behind, dragging him backward out of the tent. He barely had time to protest before he was pulled into the light.
“Reed!” came a voice, bright and teasing. “Where’ve you been?”
“Don’t tell us you forgot about us,” another chimed in, her tone a perfect echo of the first.
The hands belonged to twin women—blondes with hair so pale it bordered on white, almost glowing in the dim light. Their matching smiles were sharp and playful, their eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and intent. Their outfits, if they could even be called that, were nearly identical: tight-laced underbust corsets that accentuated their curves, paired with scraps of fabric and leather straps that left just enough to the imagination to draw eyes. The gleaming buckles and faintly shimmering embroidery added an almost theatrical flair, contrasting sharply with the worn, dusty environment.
Reed’s grin was instantaneous, his earlier focus evaporating. “Well, look at this. My favorite pair of troublemakers.”
The twins laughed, their movements synchronized as they leaned in closer. “You’ve been gone too long,” one said, running a finger along his chest.
“Way too long,” the other agreed, tugging lightly at his jacket. “You owe us.”
“Ladies, ladies,” Reed said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Inside the tent, Laura glanced toward the commotion and rolled her eyes. “Of course. Can’t take him anywhere.”
Jenny frowned, craning her neck to see what was happening. “Who are they?”
“Trouble,” Laura muttered, her tone dripping with disdain. “The kind he likes best.”
Chan smirked, folding up his blueprint. “And they like him, too.”
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The twins pressed in closer, their fingers playing at the edges of Reed’s jacket. Their bright, sharp smiles and the faint scent of something sweet and floral—where they’d even found perfume in this world was a mystery—made it hard to focus. Their teasing voices overlapped, blurring together as they leaned against him with synchronized ease.
“You’ve been gone too long,” one said, her tone half a pout, half a challenge.
“Way too long,” the other chimed in, trailing a finger down the front of his chest. “Don’t tell us you’ve been busy with something better than us.”
On any other day, Reed would already be giving in. Hell, he wanted to give in now. His body tensed, and he swallowed hard, his grin faltering just slightly as his gaze darted to their impossibly pale hair, their curves framed by the provocative straps and corsets. The invitation in their eyes was unmistakable, and it took everything he had not to follow his instincts.
But then his thoughts flicked to Jenny. Tiny, stubborn Jenny, fumbling through this broken world with one arm and more determination than anyone had a right to. She was back in the tent right now, probably wondering why he was wasting time. The idea of her waiting—of her thinking he’d abandoned her—made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.
He scowled inwardly, forcing himself to shove the thought away. It’s not about her, he told himself. It’s the con. Just the con. You can’t get distracted. Stay sharp.
He exhaled and stepped back slightly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Another time, ladies.”
The twins paused, their synchronized smiles shifting to faint expressions of surprise. “Another time?” one repeated, her tone dripping with disbelief.
Reed nodded, though his voice betrayed just how much effort the words took. “Yeah. You have no idea how much I want this, but... not today.”
The surprise didn’t last long. The twins exchanged a glance, their smiles returning in full force. “Your loss,” the first said lightly, giving him a playful push.
“But we’ll hold you to that,” the second added, her tone almost sing-song.
As they turned to go, their teasing wasn’t finished. They sauntered away with exaggerated sway, and just before disappearing into the crowd, they took turns slapping each other’s butts with sharp, echoing cracks. They didn’t look back, but the move was deliberate, a parting shot aimed squarely at him.
Reed let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. “Damn it.” His grin returned, forced and hollow, as he glanced toward the tent.
“It’s just the con,” he repeated under his breath, trying to convince himself. But the uneasy feeling in his chest didn’t go away.
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Jenny sat on a battered stool near the edge of the tent, her rifle resting across her lap. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the familiar lines of the stock as she glanced around, her thoughts swirling like the chaos outside.
The Burgh was unlike anything she’d ever imagined. Just days ago, she thought the surface was nothing but ruins and barren wasteland—an endless stretch of emptiness. But here, people had built something out of the ashes. It was chaotic, sure, but it was alive. Merchants haggled, laughter mixed with shouting, and the air buzzed with energy.
It was strange, though. For every familiar thread—a smirk shared between two traders, the determined concentration of someone counting shards—there was something utterly alien. The currency itself was bizarre, glowing fragments traded as casually as coins. The clothing ranged from practical scraps to barely-there pieces that made her blush just looking at them. It was a clash of the mundane and the surreal, and Jenny wasn’t sure if she found it comforting or unsettling.
If you strip it all away... people are just people, she thought, her eyes lingering on a nearby stall where a mother scolded her child for snatching a handful of dried berries. The language of the reprimand was unfamiliar, but the exasperation in the woman’s voice was universal.
Her gaze shifted as Reed stepped back into the tent. He ran a hand through his hair, his easy grin plastered across his face as if he hadn’t just been dragged away by two women wearing practically nothing. Jenny raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for him to settle near her.
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“Alright,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet but steady. “Explain. Everything. What is all this?”
Reed glanced at her, the faintest hint of surprise in his expression before his grin softened into something more genuine. “What part of ‘everything’ do you want me to start with?”
Jenny frowned, gesturing vaguely toward the glowing shards hanging from the merchant’s neck outside. “The glowing rocks, for one. And... I don’t know. All of it. The bullets. The clothes. This whole place.”
Reed leaned back against the crate, arms folded as he watched Jenny try to piece together the chaos around them. “Alright, kid. Let’s break it down. Those glowing rocks you’ve been eyeballing? Cleansing Shards. They’re the closest thing we’ve got to money these days.”
Jenny tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “Why? I mean, what makes them... valuable?”
“Couple of things,” Reed said, gesturing lazily toward a merchant’s pouch where faint light spilled through the seams. “First, they’re authentic. That glow? It’s impossible to fake. Makes ‘em hard to forge, which is a big deal when trust is thin. Second, they’re useful.” He held up a finger for each point. “Light up a room, power a small machine, even fuel a charm if you’re into that sort of thing.”
Jenny’s eyes narrowed as she processed this. “But... they’re just rocks, right? I mean, they don’t degrade or... break or anything?”
“Exactly,” Reed said, his grin widening. “They last forever, don’t lose their glow, and come in handy when you least expect it. Plus, they’re tough—hard to shatter unless you really try.”
“And people just... carry these around?” Jenny asked, glancing down at her own gear. “Wouldn’t they get stolen?”
“Depends how you do it,” Reed replied, tapping his belt where a slender tube was strapped. “Some folks use pouches, but those can get messy. Me? I’ve got a shard tube—keeps ‘em safe and close. Traders with more shards than sense might even carry cases with compartments, all fancy-like.”
Jenny nodded slowly, her curiosity shifting. “What about... how much they’re worth? How do you know what to trade?”
“Ah, that’s the fun part,” Reed said, straightening up slightly. “They’ve got tiers. Glowflakes—tiny specks, barely worth a piece of bread. Then there are the standard Shards, like the palm-sized ones you saw on that merchant. Those’ll get you a weapon, maybe some gear. Then you’ve got Cores—fist-sized monsters. You flash one of those, you’re either rich or about to get mugged.”
Jenny’s gaze flicked back to the market, her mind spinning. “So... they’re currency, but people still barter?”
“Yeah, shards are valuable, but not everyone has ‘em. Barter works for smaller stuff—trade some dried meat for a knife, that kind of thing. But for bigger deals, shards are the way to go.” Reed leaned in slightly, his tone growing serious. “Thing is, it’s not always smooth. Some folks hoard shards to control the market, while others try to pass off fake ones. You’ve got to keep your wits about you.”
Jenny frowned, her fingers brushing the stock of her rifle. “Sounds... complicated.”
Reed chuckled. “Welcome to the Burgh. Complicated is our middle name.”
Jenny nodded slowly, her brows knitting as she tried to process it. “And bullets?”
“Scarce,” Reed said, his tone more serious now. “The old-world ones? Gold. You don’t shoot unless you have to. Most of what people use now is homemade, like mine.” He patted his rifle fondly, the roughness of its patchwork construction painfully obvious next to her sleeker lever-action. “Not as reliable, but it gets the job done.”
Jenny’s hand tightened on her own rifle. She looked down at it, her voice softer. “So this... this is valuable.”
“Hell, yeah, it is,” Reed said with a grin. “A piece like that? You could probably trade it for a horse. A good horse. Maybe even a dragonhorse.”
Jenny looked up sharply. “I’m not trading it.”
“Relax, princess,” Reed said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t say you should. Just letting you know what you’ve got.”
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From her spot near the edge of the tent, Laura glanced over at Reed and Jenny. The kid was sitting close, her one arm resting on her lap as she leaned in, her attention fixed on Reed like he was the only person in the room. That look. Wide-eyed. Soaking up every word.
Laura huffed quietly to herself, her arms crossed as she watched. There was no denying it—Jenny was different. Not just because of the missing arm or the bunker story, but because she wasn’t like the rest of them. She wasn’t rough-edged or world-weary. Not yet.
And that’s going to change everything, Laura thought, her lips tightening. With Jenny in the mix, nothing would ever be the same. Reed might not realize it yet, but Laura did.
Her gaze lingered on them for a moment longer. Reed’s grin came easy as always, his tone light and confident, but there was something in the way his body angled slightly toward the kid—something protective. Laura’s stomach twisted faintly, a pang she wasn’t about to unpack.
“Damn fool,” she muttered under her breath, looking away. She focused on the faint noise of the market outside, trying to ignore the growing certainty that this wasn’t just another stray Reed had picked up.