Hiding metals—sounds simple, right? Wrong. You’d think after surviving betrayal, reincarnation, and Fae nightmares, I’d be a master of clever solutions, but no. Here I was, standing knee-deep in river muck, trying to figure out where to stash my loot like some Stone Age dragon with hoarding issues.

The cave wasn’t an option. Too many eyes, too many curious fingers and questions. "Hey, Anir, where’d you get all this shiny stuff?” Yeah, no thanks. I needed a spot that was close, discreet, and absolutely idiot-proof.

I’d keep just enough metal to craft tools and cast spells, but the rest—the real treasure—I’d hide.

As I scanned the riverbank my eyes landed on the large rocks scattered along the riverbank, inspiration struck: the rocks. Big, dumb, immovable rocks. Perfect. There were plenty of them scattered around the river, and no one would think to check inside a rock. Mostly because, well, rocks are solid. But I had a solution for that little problem.

I picked a hefty boulder near the water, the kind that screamed “don’t mess with me,” and pulled out a small nugget of gold. Yes, more gold. My heart winced every time I used it, but desperate times.

I cast an elemental control spell, my aura humming with effort. Slowly, I coaxed the inner stone to liquefy, its softer layers flowing out like a slow-motion volcano. The molten stone poured into the river, hissing as it hit the water and sinking deep into the riverbed to solidify.

When the dust—or, rather, the sludge—settled, I had a hollowed-out rock, big enough to stash my metal haul.

Carefully, I placed my precious Motherlode inside, keeping only two fist-sized gold nuggets for crafting and spellwork. “You stay safe in there, my shiny little fortune,” I muttered, sealing the rock with another layer of magic.

Stepping back, I admired my handiwork. A secret stash in plain sight. Now, if only I could hide my paranoia as well as I hid my gold.

There was still space inside the hollowed-out rock, and the day wasn’t over. What kind of hoarder would I be if I didn’t fill it to the brim? Gold was handled, but iron—oh, iron—was next on my list. Fae hate it, and I love anything the Fae hate.

So, like before, I anchored my spell to gold to search for iron. As the spell activated, I felt a pang of loss. One eye-sized gold nugget, shining in its innocent glory, began to erode before my eyes, consumed by the spell. "Goodbye, little buddy," I muttered dramatically. "Your sacrifice won’t be in vain."

The spell worked like a charm—well, more like an expensive charm—but it worked. Bit by bit, the riverbed surrendered its iron. I watched as the raw material coalesced into seven iron balls, each weighing about five kilograms. My aura buzzed faintly from the strain, but there they were: orbs of Fae-repellent justice.

“Seven iron balls,” I said aloud, my voice echoing faintly. “I’m basically the god of bowling now.” To make my life easier I formed some of the iron into coins to keep and use.

Back at the rock, I carefully tucked the iron balls into my stash. I might’ve even hummed a lullaby while doing it. There was something oddly satisfying about hiding these dangerous, world-changing resources like they were fragile dragon eggs.

With the iron nestled safely beside the gold, I sealed the rock again with a whispered spell. Stepping back, I admired my work. My hidden treasure chest was coming along nicely.

“Now,” I said to the rock, patting it lightly, “you keep this stuff safe, or I’m coming back with a hammer and a bad attitude.”

The day had barely begun, but the sun dipped lower in the sky, I turned toward the forest for food, my bag is lighter but my spirit a little heavier. Gold, iron, paranoia—what a life.

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I walked for less then five minuets then crouched in the bushes, planning my ambush on pigeons of all things. Mighty Anir, prince reincarnated, wielder of ancient magic and dreams of power… reduced to hunting for flying rats. Glorious.

I adjusted the sling on my wrist, its leather cool against my skin, and scanned the skies with the seriousness of a general surveying a battlefield. Pigeons. Fast, dumb, and utterly unaware of their impending doom.

“Alright, you feathery freeloaders,” I muttered under my breath, “time to pay your rent.”

I reached into my pouch, pulling out a small obsidian pellet—because when you’ve got obsidian lying around, you make weapons out of it, even for pigeons. These pellets where enchanted even if I miss the spell passing near its target will make the small-minded target lose consciousness or get confused for moment.

My aura hummed faintly as I charged the pellet, just enough to give it extra speed and accuracy without making it glow like a miniature sun. No need to advertise my plans to the world.

I spotted my first target perched on a low branch, pecking obliviously at something. I lined up my shot, carefully pulled back the sling, and released. The pellet zipped through the air, silent and deadly.

Thunk. Feathers exploded everywhere. Success!

I jogged over to collect my prize, tucking the bird into my bag. It wasn’t much, but hey, pigeons tasted better than they looked. As I reset my sling, a second pigeon fluttered down nearby. “Oh, look, a volunteer,” I said with a grin.

The hunt continued. By the time I had six pigeons on my shoulder neatly tied bundle, I was feeling like the king of Stone Age pest control. “Move over, legendary beasts,” I muttered. “I’m the scourge of pigeons now.”

On my way back, I couldn’t help but smirk. The others would probably scoff at my catch, but they’d all be fighting for a piece when it was roasted. Let them laugh. A prince does what’s necessary. Even if it means pigeon duty.

And with that my day was over, I have food, my treasure was safe—tucked away in a hollowed rock fortress where no one, human or otherwise, would think to look. Unless the Fae suddenly developed the ability to liquefy stone. Nah, even they don’t have that kind of panache. Probably.

But then again... paranoia has a way of crawling up your spine, whispering sweet nothings about doom in your ear. My paranoia wasn’t whispering anymore—it was wide awake, tapping me on the shoulder and screaming, “They’re watching you!”

So, I did what any reasonable, magic-wielding reincarnated prince would do. I hexed the whole damn area.

With a pouch of iron dust in hand, I stomped around the riverbank, sprinkling the stuff like an overenthusiastic chef seasoning a cursed soup. “Get some, you creepy little bastards,” I muttered under my breath.

Each handful of iron dust was a personal insult to the Fae. “Oh, you like sneaking around in shadows? Here’s a taste of what happens when you mess with me!” Sprinkle. “You think you’re all mysterious and ethereal? Boom! Iron! Deal with it!” Sprinkle.

By the time I was done, the area was practically glowing with latent hostility. My iron hexes hummed faintly, forming an invisible barrier that I hoped would keep the Fae at bay—or at least give them a nasty burn if they got too curious.

“Consider this my way of saying screw you to our delightful neighbors,” I said, brushing the last of the iron dust off my hands. “Let’s see you prance around this, you shadow-hopping assholes.”

With the sun beginning to set, I felt a little better. Not safe—never safe—but better. As I turned back toward the cave, I couldn’t help but grin. If nothing else, I’d given the Fae something to think about tonight.

On my way back to the cave, the golden and iron nuggets tucked safely in my pack, I decided to have a little fun with the local Fae. Sure, they’re terrifying, cunning, soul-sucking monsters, but they’ve got one big weakness—iron. And I’ve got a handful of iron coins that I’d been itching to put to good use.

As I trudged through the forest, I flicked the coins one by one into the underbrush like some demented fairy tale villain scattering breadcrumbs. Only my breadcrumbs were hexed with a nasty little spell designed to singe the Fae if they got too curious.

“Here, have a coin, you creepy bastards,” I muttered, tossing one near a tree stump. “Go buy yourself a sense of decency.”

Another went spinning into a cluster of ferns. “And here’s one for your therapy fund. Trust me, you need it.”

By the time I reached the cave’s edge, I’d formed a rough perimeter of hexed coins around the area. It wasn’t a perfect defense, but it would slow them down if they got any ideas about sneaking in tonight. Besides, the thought of a Fae stepping on one of my enchanted coins and yelping like a scalded dog was far too satisfying to pass up.

As I approached the cave, I gave the last coin a little extra spin before it landed in the dirt. “Let’s see how you like this game, you shadow-hopping pricks.”

The faint glow of the hexed coin pulsed once before fading, its spell dormant but ready. I grinned to myself, feeling a flicker of pride. Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the most effective.

“Playtime’s over, folks. The cave is closed for business.” I muttered under my breath, stepping inside to prepare for whatever nightmare the night would bring.