There are few blessings in the coming of the Mad Moon, but we must take comfort in the proof of man’s charitable spirit, and the forfeit of material wealth. At the end, let us all abandon our lust for wealth.

-Father Michael

Gaspard stood across the street and stared up at the familiar facade. The bank where he had once worked still stood, near identical to how it had been when Gaspard had last left it. He could still recall his final shift. He had done his hours, wishing all the while to return home, and signed off with his employer with a promise to see him tomorrow. They had never met again. That very evening, word had begun to spread of the Mad Moon’s coming. After that, Gaspard had been unable to bring himself to work counting other people’s money.

After assuring the road was clear of beasts, Gaspard began to cross. The streets were empty here, bearing little marking of the Lunar Festival that had consumed the residential districts. Gaspard had not been alone in his instinct to abandon labor. The business districts of the city sat cold and abandoned. What use was there for coin counters and textile makers in the face of the apocalypse? Material goods would never save anyone from the Mad Moon.

A wisdom apparently lost on some residents of the city. Gaspard stepped into the lobby of the bank and found it all but torn asunder, with every table upturned, every drawer emptied, and almost every vault opened. Gaspard scoffed at the very idea. He was here to take something as well, yes, but he sought to find something no looter would ever think to take: information.

The many names on Gaspard’s list all had one thing in common; they were all wealthy, prominent citizens, and as such they had all secured their coin in the city’s most prestigious banking institution: the one in which Gaspard now stood. With a smile of satisfaction, Gaspard did something he had always wanted to do, and kicked down the door to the owner’s office. The door gave way easily. It was empty, and untouched. The only things to be found here were records and documents, and as paper did not glitter, no looters had come tearing through this room.

A single finger peeled away a layer of dust as Gaspard traced the spines of several notebooks. After finding the most recent records, Gaspard pulled the book from the shelf, took a seat at his employer’s empty desk, and perused the contents. He found the documents for the painter first. It was useless now, but for the fact that it confirmed he was looking in the right place. He similarly found and skimmed past the documents for the host, the preacher, and the astrologer. The king’s place of residence was obvious, leaving only the merchant and the philosopher to be located.

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As he scoured the contents of the book, Gaspard did feel some bitterness rising in his chest. The sums being transferred and secured in this book were astronomical. On a single page Gaspard could find record of more coin than Gaspard had ever claimed in his life. He took their rampant greed as simply another sin that they might be judged for and moved on. Beyond the sins of the past, there was a stench in the air that turned Gaspard’s stomach and made him not wish to dwell in this place. He had gotten used to the smell of rot at this point, but there was some new acrid cut to this stench.

Having found what he wanted, Gaspard made his way out of the offices, past the barren vaults. He could not help but notice that the stench grew in strength as he walked down the row of metal vaults. It grew stronger, hanging thick in the air as Gaspard grew closer and closer to one vault that remained sealed.

Morbid curiosity overcame common sense. Gaspard turned on his heels and went back to the managers office, to retrieve a ring of vault keys from its hiding place. He held the keys with his injured arm, and kept his healthy hand on his sword. Just in case.

With a quick turn and a pull at the metal door, Gaspard opened the sealed vault. The wafting stench of human filth and rot nearly caused him to vomit. As no misshapen beast lunged out to tear him limb from limb, Gaspard took a moment to step away from the vault and gag. After allowing his lungs, and the air, to clear, Gaspard returned to the vault to view it’s contents, making sure to leave the cault door open lest it seal behind him.

Most of the bank’s wealth had found its way into this single vault. Stacks of coins of every denomination towered high to the ceiling, some having collapsed under their own weight into cascading piles of coin. Disorganized piles of jewelry and precious gemstones crowded the edges, forming a glittering barrier around the stacks of gold. Sitting atop it all, enthroned upon the wealth of a hundred kings, was a single emaciated corpse.

Gaspard stared at the decaying body. It was fresher than most of the corpses he’d seen, yet somehow in far worse condition. The paperlike skin was drawn thin over taut muscles, and the eyes and gut were sunken. This one had not died as a result of the Mad Moon. He had died days, possibly weeks later, slowly starving to death in a vault that could not be opened from the inside. Gaspard did not waste time feeling any pity for the fool.

All the hoarded wealth in the world could not buy an ounce of common sense. The world had no need of a man too foolish to realize he could not eat gold. Gaspard moved on, leaving behind yet another corpse. The corpse of a fool this time, but the worms would not know the difference.