The pouch jingled softly in my hand as I stepped out into the sunlight, its weight both comforting and disheartening. My father had given it to me just before I’d left Valda-Ashdock, his expression carefully neutral as he pressed the worn leather bag into my palm.
“This is for you, Wolfhart,” he’d said. “It’s not much, but it should help you get by.”
I’d nodded, unable to miss the strain in his voice. Most of my father’s wages as captain of the village guard had gone toward paying the Academy fees, leaving little for luxuries—or even necessities. The fact that he’d saved this much for me spoke volumes.
Now, as I slipped the pouch into my pocket and stepped into the bustling streets of the capital, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of its contents—not just the coins but what they represented.
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I found a quiet corner near the Academy gates and emptied the pouch onto the bench beside me. Five gold coins, ten silver, and a handful of copper pieces glinted in the sunlight.
“Hexa,” I said, keeping my voice low, “what can I do with this?”
Hexa’s voice chimed in, her tone clinical. “Based on my calculations, the average monthly income for a laborer in the Ash Capital is between seven and ten gold coins. Your current funds amount to approximately two-thirds of a month’s wages.”
I frowned, turning one of the gold coins over in my fingers. Each bore the image of a phoenix, the Ash Kingdom’s emblem, its wings spread wide as if to mock my meager savings.
“So, not much,” I muttered.
“For basic sustenance, it is sufficient,” Hexa replied. “However, discretionary spending will be limited.”
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I spent the next few hours wandering the streets, my curiosity pulling me toward the markets that seemed to spring up on every corner.
The Ash Capital’s markets were a sprawling maze of sights, sounds, and smells, far grander than anything I’d seen in Valda-Ashdock. Cobblestone streets stretched endlessly, lined with stalls overflowing with goods that shimmered under the bright midday sun. Each merchant seemed to shout louder than the last, their voices blending into a cacophony of sales pitches and haggling.
“Fresh mana-infused fruits! Grown in the High Gardens of the Ash Mountains!” one vendor cried, holding up an apple that glowed faintly with an internal light.
“Enchanted quills, perfect for examinations and correspondence!” another called, gesturing to a display of feathered pens that seemed to write in the air of their own accord.
Children darted between the crowds, laughing as they chased after enchanted toy birds that flitted and chirped above their heads. It was vibrant and alive, a world away from the slow, steady life of Valda-Ashdock.
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As I moved deeper into the market, the goods became more extravagant. Jewelry stalls showcased necklaces embedded with mana stones that radiated faint hues of blue and green, their prices etched in gold plaques far beyond my means. One store featured mechanical birds carved from gleaming metals, their wings flapping as they sang melodies far sweeter than any I’d heard before.
A merchant demonstrated a small music box that played an entire symphony when wound, the notes resonating with a clarity that seemed impossible for such a small device.
“How much?” I asked, curious despite knowing the answer.
“Fifteen gold,” the vendor said with a shrug, as if it were a negligible sum.
I sighed, walking away. Even the simplest trinkets here cost more than my entire savings.
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The larger shops lining the streets had intricate wooden signs hanging above their doors, engraved with glowing runes that advertised their wares. One, labeled Elusive Enchantments, displayed a wide array of mana-powered gadgets: floating lanterns, self-cleaning utensils, and boots that promised to make the wearer faster.
Another shop, Ash Armory, was filled with weapons gleaming with enchantments, from swords that hummed faintly with power to shields that shimmered with an almost imperceptible layer of protective magic. I lingered near the window, admiring a set of throwing daggers etched with fiery runes that seemed to flicker and dance across their surface.
“Ten gold for one,” Hexa noted, calculating the price from the runes inscribed on the display.
The market itself was beautiful, its cobblestone streets polished from years of foot traffic. Magical streetlamps lined the thoroughfares, glowing softly even in daylight. The air was thick with the scent of spices, roasted meats, and mana-infused oils, their aromas wafting from food stalls and open-air kitchens.
Above the din of merchants and customers, faint strains of music played—likely from a bard using mana-infused instruments. The melody floated through the air, giving the market an almost dreamlike quality.
Despite its grandeur, there was a sense of routine to it all. Merchants haggled, customers browsed, and street performers entertained without a second thought. To the residents of the Ash Capital, this was normal—a bustling hub of trade and culture.
Even the mundane shops—the bakeries, clothiers, and general goods stores—felt out of reach. A small loaf of bread infused with restorative mana cost more silver than I dared to spend, and the finely tailored robes on display in the windows of Fabrics of the Phoenix seemed designed for nobles rather than commoners.
I paused at a stall selling gloves with intricate runes stitched into their leather. The vendor noticed my interest and launched into a practiced sales pitch.
“These gloves can amplify the precision of mana manipulation,” he said, holding a pair up for me to inspect. “Perfect for a young mage like yourself!”
“How much?” I asked hesitantly.
“Five gold,” he replied smoothly.
I shook my head, the weight of my meager savings pressing down on me again. Everything here was designed to cater to the wealthy, leaving little for those of us without deep pockets.
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As I continued through the markets, the disparity between my life and the world around me became painfully clear.
“These nobles don’t just have more money,” I thought, watching a finely dressed boy haggle over a jeweled dagger. “They have access to everything—better tools, better gear, better everything.”
Hexa chimed in, as if reading my thoughts. “Resource disparities are common in structured societies. However, this environment exacerbates them due to the interplay of mana and wealth.”
“It’s not fair,” I muttered, clenching my fists.
“Fairness is irrelevant,” Hexa replied. “What matters is adaptation. If you wish to bridge this gap, you must find a way to generate additional resources.”
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By midday, I resolved to find a job. The Academy’s break was long enough that I could earn at least a few extra coins before classes resumed.
I started near the bustling main thoroughfares, asking at taverns, shops, and even street vendors. Each time, the response was the same:
“Too young.”
“No experience.”
“Try somewhere else.”
The rejection stung more than I wanted to admit. Back in Valda-Ashdock, I’d been treated with a level of respect simply because of my father’s position. Here, I was just another boy in a sea of faces.
By late afternoon, I found myself near the outer walls of the city. The towering structures loomed over me, casting long shadows that seemed to swallow the streets below.
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The sounds of the city began to change. The cheerful calls of merchants were replaced by murmurs and the occasional distant laugh, their tones carrying an edge of something darker.
I wandered aimlessly, my feet dragging as exhaustion set in. My pouch of coins felt heavier with each step, a constant reminder of how little I had and how far I had to go.
The shadows under the outer walls of the capital deepened quickly, their long, jagged shapes cast by the last rays of the setting sun. The air grew cooler, and the bustling sounds of the main streets faded into an eerie quiet.
I hadn’t meant to wander this far, but my frustration from the day lingered. Each rejection, each reminder of how little I had, had driven me further from the heart of the city. Now, I found myself in a place where the stone walls of the capital loomed high and heavy, their edges jagged and worn.
It was then that I heard it—a lilting tune echoing faintly through the alleys. The sound was strange, almost hypnotic, bouncing off the walls with a rhythm that seemed alive.
“What is that?” I muttered.
“Unknown,” Hexa replied. “However, it appears to originate from a gathering nearby. Proceed cautiously.”
I hesitated for only a moment before following the sound.
The music led me to a narrow alley, its cobblestones uneven beneath my feet. The passage opened into a courtyard bathed in the flickering glow of floating magical lights.
The scene before me was unlike anything I’d seen in the capital’s bustling day markets. Brightly colored tents lined the courtyard, their canopies swaying gently in the breeze. Stalls were crammed with goods that glimmered and shone, their origins as mysterious as the people selling them.
Merchants with wild, eccentric appearances hawked wares in loud, guttural tones. One man with a patchwork cloak held up a silver orb that pulsed faintly with light, shouting something about “seeing the truth.” Another stall displayed cages filled with exotic creatures—some resembling oversized birds, others far stranger, their forms twisting and shimmering as if they were made of liquid light.
The smells were equally chaotic: the sharp tang of spices, the earthy musk of animals, and the faint metallic scent of mana-infused goods.
“This isn’t an official market,” Hexa said in a wary tone. “The odds of illicit activity here are high.”
“I figured,” I whispered back, though I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the spectacle.
I wandered through the market, taking in the sights and sounds with a mix of awe and apprehension. There were weapons unlike anything I’d seen before—blades etched with runes that glowed faintly, crossbows that reloaded themselves, and even a staff that appeared to shift its form depending on how the vendor held it.
In one corner, a merchant demonstrated an enchanted cloak that turned its wearer invisible for brief moments, drawing gasps of amazement from the crowd.
But it was a voice, rough and thick with a capital accent, that snapped me out of my reverie.
“Eh, you! Village boy!”
I turned to see a short man with a grizzled beard and a glass eye that gleamed unnervingly in the firelight. His clothes were tattered but clean, and his crooked grin revealed a mouth missing several teeth.
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“You lookin’ to make some coin?” he asked, his voice raspy and punctuated by a smoker’s cough.
I hesitated, the events of the day flashing through my mind—rejection after rejection, the weight of my dwindling funds.
“Maybe,” I said cautiously. “What’s the job?” Walking Inside One-Bill’s tent, I instantly forgot the question the air was thick with a mix of smoke and the sharp tang of metal. Shelves overflowed with curiosities, each one stranger than the last. My eyes wandered over jars of glowing liquids, skulls of unknown creatures, and cages housing animals I could only describe as fantastical.
It was one of those cages that caught my attention. A small, fuzzy creature sat nestled at the center, its round body covered in soft gray fur. Its most striking features were the two glowing green eyes that stared at me with unnerving intelligence. The creature shuffled closer to the edge of the cage, its beady gaze locked onto mine.
One-Bill’s raspy laugh broke the silence. “First time seeing a dribble, eh?”
I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from the odd little creature.
“Funny little things,” he said, tapping the side of the cage. “In the wild, they’re herd mimics—pick up on the behaviors of whatever they’re around to survive. That adaptability makes ’em damn useful if you train ’em right.”
“What do you train them for?” I asked, curiosity momentarily eclipsing my nervousness.
One-Bill grinned, revealing a row of uneven, yellowed teeth. “Depends on what you need. This one here? The guy who sold it to me claims it’s trained to sniff out lies. Scared of liars, loves honesty. See how it’s all cozying up to you? Means you’re not hiding anything important. Or you’re real good at lying.”
I wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or unnerved as the dribble’s green eyes blinked slowly, its tiny nose twitching like it was sniffing the air around me.
“You think it can tell?” I asked, leaning closer to the cage.
“Sure does,” One-Bill said, his voice taking on a mocking tone. “If it didn’t like you, it’d be tucked away in the back by now. Guess there’s somethin’ decent about you, even if you do smell like fish.”
I straightened up, my face heating. “I don’t smell like fish.”
“Oh, you do,” he said, laughing. “Whole market can smell it. Valda-Ashdock, right? I knew it the second you walked in.”
I frowned but decided not to take the bait. “What’s the point of all this?” I asked, gesturing toward the dribble.
“The point, kid,” One-Bill said, resting his elbows on the counter, “is that animals like this? They’re good judges of character. You can’t lie to ’em, can’t fake ’em out. That little furball liking you means I might be able to trust you. And trust is a rare thing in my line of work.”
The dribble rolled onto its back, its eyes still glowing faintly as it let out a soft chirping sound. One-Bill chuckled, shaking his head.
“Guess you passed the test,” he said. “I’ll be honest—most folks wouldn’t get this far with me. But you? There’s somethin’ about you, fish boy.”
I ignored the jab, focusing instead on the creature. Its strange behavior intrigued me, and the way it seemed to sense something deeper—truth or intention—was unnerving yet fascinating.
“How do you train them?” I asked.
One-Bill leaned back, puffing out a cloud of smoke from his pipe. “Takes time. Dribbles bond with their owners or whoever’s around long enough. You want ’em to sense lies, you reward ’em every time they figure one out. Same with other emotions—fear, anger, you name it. You hijack their natural instincts, and boom, they’re useful as hell.”
He gestured toward the cage, his glass eye glinting in the dim light. “This one here’s good at sniffing out honesty. Seems it likes your vibe. Maybe you’ll be a good fit for what I need.”
As I stood in the dimly lit tent unsure if that was a compliment, surrounded by the cacophony of strange animals and magical oddities, my nerves were frayed. One-Bill's laughter still echoed in my ears, raspy and rough, as though the very act of laughing hurt him. His crooked grin seemed permanently fixed,
“So,” I asked cautiously, trying to ground myself in the bizarre atmosphere, “why do they call you One-Bill?”
The grin widened as One-Bill let out a crackling smoker’s laugh. He reached up, tapping the side of his face near his right eye.
“You really wanna know, kid?” he asked, his voice dripping with mischief.
I shrugged, feigning indifference, though the curiosity gnawed at me. “You brought it up.”
With a theatrical groan, he leaned back in his creaky chair, his rough fingers working at the corner of his eye. To my horror, his eye popped out with a soft plop, and he caught it deftly in his hand. The pupil on the glass sphere still moved, tracking me as though it were alive.
I recoiled slightly, my stomach lurching.
“Relax, fish boy,” he said, cackling as he held up the glass eye for me to see. “Got this beauty after a nasty fight years ago. Some big beast took my real one clean out. Figured I’d replace it with something fancy.”
The eye shifted in his hand, glowing faintly as it seemed to study me. I could see faint runes etched into the glass, intricate and delicate, running along the edges like veins of light.
“What is that?” I asked, leaning closer despite myself.
“Mana-infused,” he said, popping the eye back into its socket with an unsettling click. “Lets me see things most folks can’t. Mana traces, hidden enchantments, even what people try to hide. Handy little tool in my line of work.”
One-Bill dropped onto a creaky stool, pulling a small package from beneath the counter. It was wrapped tightly in brown paper, unmarked save for a faint symbol stamped on one corner.
“Simple job,” he said, tossing the package onto the counter. “Take this to the address on the tag. Don’t open it, don’t ask questions. The guy’ll pay you when you hand it over, and you bring me the coin. Easy enough for a smart kid like you.”
I frowned, the weight of the package suddenly feeling heavier. “What’s in it?”
“Didn’t I just say not to ask questions?” One-Bill replied, his grin widening. “You do the job, you get paid. One gold coin for each run. That’s more than most kids your age see in a month.”
Hexa’s voice cut through my thoughts. “This arrangement is highly suspicious. Proceeding could have legal or ethical repercussions.”
I hesitated, the red flags waving furiously in my mind. But then I thought about the day I’d had—the endless rejections, the nobles who looked down on me, the sheer gap between what I wanted and what I had.
“I’ll do it,” I said finally, my voice steadier than I felt.
One-Bill’s laugh was a smoker’s bark, raspy and full of phlegm. “Good lad! Just remember, kid—never get caught.” with a wink and a smile he handed me the package and an address.
As I left the chaotic energy of the night market and entered the quieter streets of the capital, a wave of unease settled over me. The package felt heavier than it should have, its plain brown wrapping suddenly ominous in my hands.
“Hexa,” I whispered under my breath, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby, “what do you think is in this thing?”
“Unknown,” she replied. “However, the clandestine nature of this transaction suggests it is not something you would wish to have discovered.”
“Helpful,” I muttered.
To make myself less conspicuous, I tucked the package under my arm, keeping it close to my body. The uniform I wore—clean and clearly marked with the insignia of the Academy—gave me a certain air of legitimacy. Still, my palms were sweating, and my heart raced with every step.
As I turned a corner, the sound of boots on cobblestones froze me in place. Two city guards strolled down the street, their armored forms gleaming in the faint light of a nearby lamp. They weren’t looking for anything—or anyone—in particular, but their presence sent a jolt of fear through me.
“Stay calm,” Hexa said, her voice steady.
I adjusted the package, slipping it into the folds of my uniform so it was partially concealed. My mind raced with excuses in case they stopped me, but no amount of preparation could quiet the pounding in my chest.
One of the guards glanced my way, his eyes briefly sweeping over my uniform before looking past me without a second thought.
“A kid in an Academy uniform,” he said to his companion with a chuckle. “Probably on his way back to campus. No trouble there.”
They walked on, their voices fading into the distance, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Jonathan never had to deal with this,” I thought bitterly, the memory of my old life rushing back. “I was never a criminal. Never did anything more suspicious than sneaking a beer into my dorm room. Now look at me—sneaking through alleys with some package I don’t even want to think about.”
Hexa’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. “You are not currently in danger. Continue to your destination. Efficiency is key.”
“Easy for you to say,” I replied under my breath.
Still, she was right. I forced my legs to move, though every step felt like I was walking on thin ice.
By the time I reached the address, my nerves were frayed, and I was ready to be rid of the package. When I reached the location—a nondescript door in a crumbling stone building—I hesitated. A slit in the door slid open, and a pair of suspicious eyes peered out.
“What do you want?” a voice barked.
“I’ve got a package,” I said, holding it up. “From One-Bill.”
The eyes narrowed before disappearing. A series of locks clicked, and the door creaked open just enough for a hand to snatch the package. A small bag of coins was thrust into my hand, and the door slammed shut without another word.
“Efficient,” Hexa noted dryly as I turned to head back to the market.
When I returned to One-Bill’s tent, he took the coins, counted them, and tossed me two gold pieces.
“For your first job,” he said, winking with his good eye.
Despite the lingering unease in my chest, I couldn’t ignore the weight of the coins in my hand or the satisfaction of having earned them.
As I walked back to the Academy, the orbs of magical fire lighting my path, I couldn’t help but wonder: what had I just gotten myself into?
The first few nights were the hardest. Every knock on an unmarked door, every glance from a passerby, every shadow that flickered in the dimly lit alleys made my heart race. But with each delivery, the tension began to ease, replaced by a strange rhythm.
The routine was simple. One-Bill would hand me a package, a scrawled address, and a toothy grin that always carried a hint of menace. My job was to navigate the winding streets of the Ash Capital, deliver the package, collect payment, and return.
The tasks were repetitive, but they paid well. With every successful run, the coins in my pouch grew heavier, and the feeling of powerlessness that had plagued me since arriving in the capital began to fade.
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On the third night, as I stepped out of One-Bill’s tent with a package tucked under my arm, the familiar anxiety was still there, but it no longer controlled me.
“You’re getting used to this,” Hexa noted, her tone somewhere between observation and warning.
“I have to,” I muttered. “It’s not like anyone else is handing out gold coins for walking across the city.”
That night, the streets felt different. The fear that had once clouded my thoughts was replaced by a sharp awareness of my surroundings. I began to notice the patterns—the quiet alleys that guards rarely patrolled, the subtle signs that marked safe paths through the night market.
Even the weight of the packages no longer felt ominous. They were just objects now, a means to an end.
By the end of the week, I could navigate the dark streets with a confidence I’d never felt before, the packages slipping from my hands to theirs like clockwork.
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But the more I worked, the more I began to notice things I couldn’t quite explain.
The recipients were always strange in one way or another. Some barely glanced at me as they took the package, slamming the door shut before I could speak. Others scrutinized me, their eyes sharp and calculating, as though they were assessing whether I could be trusted.
A few spoke in hushed tones, asking questions I wasn’t sure how to answer.
“You’re new,” one man had said, his gaze flickering to the Academy crest on my uniform.
I’d shrugged, offering the same response I always did. “One-Bill sent me.”
It was enough. It was always enough.
The packages themselves varied. Most were small, wrapped in the same plain brown paper, but occasionally, I’d carry something heavier, its contents shifting unnervingly as I walked.
“What do you think is in these?” I asked Hexa one night as I made my way back to the night market.
“I cannot determine the contents without violating the integrity of the package,” she replied. “However, the variability suggests a diverse range of goods or materials.”
“You think it’s illegal?”
“It is highly probable,” Hexa said, her tone flat. “Your employer’s instructions to avoid interception and his lack of transparency strongly indicate illicit activity.”
I frowned but said nothing.
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By the end of the second week, I had amassed more gold than I’d ever seen in my life. The pouch my father had given me, once so light and disappointing, now bulged with coins.
“Ten gold, fifteen silver,” Hexa calculated as I counted the coins under the flickering light of my dormitory lantern. “This places your earnings well above the monthly average for a laborer in the capital.”
“I know,” I said, tying the pouch shut. “It’s working.”
Hexa’s tone shifted, her words measured and deliberate. “Do you believe the ends justify the means?”
I paused, the weight of her question settling over me.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But what choice do I have? The nobles have everything—stats, resources, connections. If I don’t find a way to catch up, I’ll never stand a chance.”
Hexa was silent for a moment, then replied, “You are rationalizing behavior that conflicts with your previous ethical framework. This will likely have long-term consequences.”
I sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I didn’t ask for a lecture, Hexa. I just want to survive here. To do more than survive.I need power.”
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The night market had become almost familiar by now, its chaotic energy no longer overwhelming but strangely comforting.
One-Bill greeted me with his usual grin when I returned from a delivery. “You’re gettin’ the hang of it, fish boy,” he said, tossing me another coin. “Might even make a proper runner out of you yet.”
I pocketed the coin, ignoring the nickname. “What’s next?”
He handed me another package, this one heavier than usual. “Same drill. Don’t open it, don’t ask questions, and for the gods’ sake, don’t get caught. But this time you’re moving a medium parcel, everything until now has been light but youre doing so well I thought i'd give you this one the work pays double.”
The warnings no longer made my stomach churn the way they had on the first night. They were just part of the job now, part of the strange, secret life I’d fallen into.
As I stepped out into the night, the city’s lights twinkling in the distance, I wondered how far I was willing to go—and whether I’d recognize the line when I crossed it.