The sun was just beginning to rise when my alarm blared, dragging me from the kind of sleep that leaves you feeling worse than before you closed your eyes. I groaned, slapping at the clock until it fell silent, and rolled out of bed, rubbing my face as the world slowly came into focus.

It was Saturday. Fishing day.

An hour later, I was on the road, my beat-up ute rattling as I navigated the uneven streets toward the docks. The air was crisp, carrying that faint salty tang you could only get near the water, and for once, Sydney’s traffic wasn’t actively trying to kill me.

“About time, mate!”

The shout came from my best friend, Darren, who was already unloading gear from his truck when I pulled into the gravel lot. He was a broad-shouldered guy with a perpetual tan and a grin that could sell anything to anyone.

“Didn’t think you’d actually get up,” he said as I stepped out, tossing me a can of beer before I could even greet him.

“It’s six in the bloody morning,” I said, cracking open the can. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Lucky you need me to tie your knots,” he shot back, winking.

The boat was nothing fancy—just a small fishing dinghy Darren had inherited from his uncle—but it floated and didn’t leak, which was all that mattered. We loaded the gear, packed a small cooler with sandwiches and more beer, and pushed off into the water.

The city faded behind us as we drifted out toward the quieter stretches of the bay, where the only sounds were the occasional splash of a fish and the distant cry of a gull.

Fishing with Darren was always the same.

We’d cast our lines, crack open a few beers, and spend most of the morning swapping stories or talking shit about everything from work to footy to the absurd price of groceries.

“Tell me again why you still work at that nightclub,” Darren said as he reeled in his line for the fifth time, bait untouched. “You could do literally anything else, you know.”

“Like what?” I asked, leaning back against the side of the boat. “Deliver pizza? Sell insurance? Not exactly a step up.”

“You could’ve been a firefighter,” he said, his tone half-teasing. “Big, tough bloke like you? Chicks dig that.”

I snorted. “Yeah, because what I need is more people yelling at me for doing my job.”

The banter was easy, familiar, the kind of back-and-forth that didn’t require much thought. But beneath it, there was a comfort I didn’t take for granted. Darren was one of the few people who never judged me for the choices I’d made—or the ones I hadn’t.

As the hours wore on, the sun climbed higher, its warmth cutting through the chill of the morning.

“You’re slacking,” Darren said, nodding toward my line, which sat untouched in the water. “Not even a nibble.”

“Fish aren’t biting today,” I replied, draining the last of my beer.

“Maybe you’re just bad at it,” he said with a grin.

“Maybe,” I said, grabbing the line to reel it in.

As I pulled the line, something tugged back.

“Finally,” I muttered, gripping the rod tighter as I started to reel in whatever I’d hooked.

The weight was heavier than I expected, but it didn’t move like a fish—no jerking, no frantic thrashing. Just a solid, unrelenting pull.

“What’ve you got there, mate?” Darren asked, leaning over to watch.

“No idea,” I said, my brow furrowing as I hauled the line closer.

When it broke the surface, both of us froze.

“Is that…a shield?” Darren said, his voice filled with equal parts confusion and disbelief.

Floating at the end of the line was exactly that—a battered steel shield, its surface scarred and worn. Water dripped from its edges as I pulled it into the boat, the weight of it making my arms ache.

The shield was circular, about two feet across, with a faded spiral design etched into the metal. The craftsmanship was rough, but it was undeniably old—medieval, maybe even older.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I said, running a hand over the cold, damp surface. “Who the hell throws a shield in the bay?”

“More importantly,” Darren said, staring at it, “why’s it still in one piece?”

Neither of us had an answer.

I turned the shield over, examining the back. The leather straps were still intact, though they were stiff and cracked with age. A faint symbol was engraved near the center—something I didn’t recognize but couldn’t stop staring at.

“Well, congrats,” Darren said, breaking the silence. “You’ve officially caught the weirdest thing in the bay. Beer’s on you next time.”

I chuckled, but the sound felt hollow. There was something about the shield that made my skin prickle, like it didn’t belong—not just in the water, but in the world as it was now.

As the boat rocked gently beneath us, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a strange find.

It was something else entirely.

The bell over the pawn shop door jingled as Darren and I stepped inside, the shield clutched awkwardly under my arm. The shop smelled like old wood and dust, the kind of place that felt like it hadn’t been cleaned since the 1980s.

The guy behind the counter barely glanced up from his magazine. He was thin, with greasy hair and a stained button-up shirt that did little to inspire confidence.

“What’s this?” he asked, looking at the shield like it was a piece of junk someone had left on his doorstep.

“Found it fishing,” I said, setting it on the counter with a dull thunk. “Figured it might be worth something.”

The guy leaned forward, squinting at the shield as he tapped it with one finger. “Steel, huh? Looks old. Couple of bucks for the scrap, maybe.”

“Couple of bucks?” Darren scoffed. “Mate, this thing’s ancient. Look at the design!”

The guy rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Alright, fine. Fifty bucks. Take it or leave it.”

Before I could respond, a voice from behind us cut through the room.

“Fifty bucks? Are you mad?”

I turned to see a man standing by one of the shelves, a polished leather briefcase in hand. He was tall, sharply dressed in a tweed jacket and a bow tie that screamed collector. His eyes were sharp, gleaming with an almost predatory interest as he approached the counter.

“That shield,” the man said, pointing, “is not scrap metal. It’s a relic.”

The pawn shop guy folded his arms. “Yeah? And what makes you the expert?”

The collector smirked, reaching out to trace a finger along the spiral design etched into the metal. “This motif is distinctly Pictish—6th century, if I’m not mistaken. And this,” he tapped the faint symbol on the back of the shield, “is an insignia used by a clan believed to have vanished during the early Middle Ages.”

He straightened, glancing at me. “This shield isn’t just valuable. It’s priceless. A piece like this could easily fetch a hundred thousand dollars at auction—possibly more.”

My stomach dropped.

“You’re full of it,” the pawn shop guy said, scowling. “There’s no way that piece of junk’s worth that much.”

The collector’s smirk widened. “Believe what you like, but if he’s smart, he won’t sell it to you for fifty dollars.”

The shop owner turned back to me, his expression a mix of annoyance and desperation. “Look, I’ll give you a hundred bucks. Final offer.”

A hundred bucks.

The words hung in the air like a bad joke.

I stared at the shield, the weight of the collector’s words pressing down on me. A hundred thousand dollars? That kind of money could change everything. It could pay off my debts, fix up the flat, maybe even…

I glanced at Darren, whose wide-eyed look mirrored my own. “What do you think?” I asked quietly.

Darren shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, mate. You heard the guy—it’s worth way more than that.”

“Yeah, but…” I hesitated, my mind spinning.

Before I could make up my mind, the pawn shop guy threw up his hands. “Whatever. Take it somewhere else if you think you’ll get a better deal. I’m not paying a cent more.”

I picked up the shield, my hands trembling slightly as I turned to leave. The collector gave me a polite nod, his gaze lingering on the shield for just a moment too long.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice smooth and confident.

The drive home was quiet, Darren unusually subdued in the passenger seat.

“You gonna sell it to someone else?” he asked finally.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. The shield was sitting in the backseat, its surface catching the afternoon light in a way that made the strange spiral design seem almost alive.

“Feels like fate, doesn’t it?” Darren said, half-joking.

“Yeah,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Fate.”

I dropped Darren off at his place and headed home, the shield weighing heavily on my mind—and my backseat. As I pulled into the driveway, my phone buzzed in the cup holder.

“Hello?” I answered, stepping out of the car.

“Mr. Carter, this is Dr. Patel,” came the voice on the other end. “I wanted to follow up on your mother’s case.”

My stomach tightened. “What about it?”

“We’ve been reviewing her file, and there’s a new treatment available. It’s experimental, but the success rate has been promising.”

“And the cost?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause. “A hundred thousand dollars.”

I felt the world tilt slightly beneath my feet.

“Without the treatment,” Dr. Patel continued carefully, “your mother’s prognosis remains unchanged. She likely has five to six months.”

The words hit me like a physical blow.

“Thanks,” I said, cutting the call short before he could say anything else.

I climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I tried to steady my breathing.

A hundred thousand dollars.

It was the exact amount the collector had said the shield was worth.

The shield sat on the backseat, its surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. It didn’t look like much—just an old piece of metal, scarred and worn—but now it felt like the universe’s cruel joke.

“This isn’t fair,” I muttered, my voice cracking.

Tears blurred my vision as the weight of everything came crashing down. My job, my mum, the shield—it was too much.

I slammed my fist against the steering wheel, a choked sob escaping my throat.

And then, the shield glowed.

At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light, but the glow grew brighter, spilling into the car like molten gold.

“What the—”

Before I could finish the thought, the light engulfed me, pulling me into a blinding, weightless void.

And then, everything went dark.