The morning sun sliced through the shutters, painting Reid's room in a golden hue. The water in the basin had long gone lukewarm, but it still did the job—cooling his face, sobering his thoughts. He'd just dried his hands on the worn towel when the door clicked open.
Tarron stepped in with a grin and a tray balanced precariously in his hands.
"Hope you're hungry," he chirped. "Brought enough for two."
Reid arched an eyebrow as Tarron plopped the tray down on the small table. Steam curled off a bowl of thick vegetable stew, fresh bread, and something sweet-smelling that Reid didn't bother identifying.
Whatever it was, looked much better than what he had at the shelter.
As if summoned by smell alone, the elk leapt up onto the table and snatched a chunk of bread from Reid's plate, skipping off with a victorious wiggle of his tail.
Tarron laughed. "You're really letting him get away with that?"
Reid shrugged and sat down, eyeing the elk's retreating figure. "He's got the instincts of a thief and the entitlement of a noble. What am I supposed to do?"
Tarron pulled out the opposite chair, clearly intent on talking. "So. What's next?"
Reid paused. The question felt heavier than it should have. There were his instincts screaming at him, hinting at his next destination. He did not know what waited for him in Dales, but there better be some damned answers.
"Coins," he said at last. "And entry into Dales."
Without the former, the latter seemed impossible in this world.
The words of that dark shadow still gnawed at the corners of his mind but Reid was not sold on changing his destination for mere phantoms that crossed his path.
He had woken up in this strange world and it could not be a mere coincidence. The purpose behind his awakening must be entangled in the mystery of this world itself.
At that exact moment, the elk padded back onto the table, a pouch dangling from his jaws.
He dropped it neatly at Reid's feet.
Reid didn't move to open it. He tilted his head toward the creature. "How many?"
The voice echoed in his head, calm and precise:
Seven hundred and fifty coins.
Reid picked up his bread again, chewing slowly. "The noble last night was really carrying that much?" He asked, arching a suspicious brow. "Did you do more elk hunting after I went to bed?"
The elk only tilted his head, unimpressed, as if to say: You're the one to talk.
Reid let out a short breath and tossed the pouch on the table in front of Tarron. "Let's start with this. Where do I receive the rank crest around here?"
Tarron blinked at the pouch, then grinned like a man who'd just found treasure under his pillow. "Follow me after breakfast," he said, already tucking in. "I'll show you."
The rest of the meal passed in companionable silence—well, Tarron talked enough for both of them, mostly about Aldor, shady officials, and how bribes functioned better than permits. Reid listened with one ear and finished his meal. The elk perched beside him, kept nibbling on the stolen bread.
When they finally stepped out, the city had already begun to stir. The streets buzzed with chatter, vendors, and the shuffle of people caught in the rhythm of Aldor's morning rush.
The Crest Office was easy enough to spot—an angular structure on the edge of the square. But what really gave it away was the line.
A thick, winding queue snaked around the plaza. Men and women of all ages stood clutching pouches, many with bedding or blankets nearby, clearly camped out overnight.
Reid frowned. "What the hell is that?"
Tarron scratched his head. "Well… Rank system's quota-based. They only grant so many crests at a time. Once the office opens, they go by first-come, first-serve. And if you don't get in…" He pointed to the back of the line. "You come back. Again. And again. And again."
Reid's jaw clenched. The pulse ticking in his brain.
Tarron looked toward the display board by the main doors and read the curling script aloud. "Looks like the Marchios bracket won't open again till next week. We could try then. Or…" He grinned, which faltered after witnessing the expression on Reid's face.
"Grinholt's an easier spot. No one there has the coin to contest for a Marchios." He offered but the advice only riled him further.
Reid's gaze scanned the square again. The line. The sentries patrolling like wolves in a pen. The display board. The rigged system. Noe the goddamned quota!
Then he snapped.
He stepped forward. People turned. Faces craned as he walked through the queue, straight toward the display board hammered into a pillar at the entrance. The elk followed casually behind, tail twitching.
Reid stared up at the board. Then, without ceremony, he reached up, grabbed the edges, and tore it clean off.
Gasps rang out. A few people stumbled back.
Reid didn't stop. He reached for the pillar itself—stone, crumbling at the edges —and ripped it from the ground with a growl of effort.
Screams now that soon turned into Cries. The line scattered, people running around helter-skelter to save their hides. Sentries were the first to disappear.
Reid turned. The path to the office doors had miraculously cleared.
He hurled the pillar forward. It slammed into the ground with a thundering crash, stopping just short of the entrance.
Dust and disbelief filled the square.
Reid's chest was heaving with the effort of the move but the rage inside his head had finally cleared. He was done with them tossing him around. Dangling a bone in front of him, only to snatch it away - like he was some frigging mutt.
Reid turned to a wide-eyed Tarron, grabbed him by the collar, and declared loud enough for the entire square to hear:
"No one steps past that pillar until the business is done. That's a promise."
Then, to Tarron, he hissed, "Show me the way."
Tarron swallowed. "Right. Uh. Yes. This way."
Reid followed, his elk skipping alongside, gleefully kicking aside scraps of paper and bits of debris.
Fair and square? No.
But finally—efficient.
The office was dim and musty, like it hadn't seen fresh air or ambition in years. Reid and Tarron stepped in. At the desk sat a middle-aged official with a thinning hairline and a permanent scowl etched onto his face. He didn't even glance up when they approached.
"What rank?" he asked flatly, thumbing through some worn parchment.
"Marchios," Reid said, dropping the word like a challenge. He placed the coin pouch heavily on the desk.
That got the official's attention. He looked up, unimpressed, then wiggled his fingers. "Hand it over."
Reid's hand hovered over the pouch. He didn't move.
The official blinked once. "Can't count the coin if it's glued to your hand, son."
Reid still didn't budge.
Tarron elbowed him, muttering under his breath, "It's fine, just give it to him. That's how it works here."
With obvious reluctance and a slow, threatening motion, Reid handed the pouch over. The official opened it with an audible yawn and began counting. A few agonizingly slow minutes later, he nodded and dropped exactly five hundred coins into a chest beside him.
Reid's brows dropped like a thundercloud. He stepped forward sharply, slamming his palm on the desk hard enough to make the chest rattle.
"Did you just steal from me?" he growled, voice low and dangerous.
The official jerked back in his seat, face suddenly pale. "Wh-what? No!"
Tarron rushed in like a panicked translator. "No, no, it's not stealing—it's the cost, Reid! You're buying the rank. That's the fee."
Reid stared at him like he'd just said clouds were edible.
Tarron continued quickly. "The crest. It's not just a badge, it's an official upgrade. Access, power, immunity in lower tiers. It's... expensive."
"So you mean I have to earn it all back again?" Reid hissed and Tarron nodded, hesitant.
Muttering curses under his breath, Reid snatched the rank crest from the counter, glaring like it had personally insulted him. He turned and stormed out of the office, pushing past a string of stunned onlookers. Tarron trailed after him, shooting apologetic looks to every passerby they nearly trampled.
At the threshold, just beyond the rubble of what used to be a very upright display post, Reid paused. An old woman stood there, struggling to climb over the girth of the broad pillar he had flung earlier, arms trembling with the effort.
Something in Reid's gut twisted. Not guilt exactly—Reid told himself. Just... fire needing redirection.
He narrowed his eyes and flicked his wrist casually, and the massive post slid away from the entrance like it had been tugged by an invisible hand. Cleared the way clean.
The woman blinked, startled, then shuffled inside quickly, mumbling blessings under her breath.
Tarron stared after her, then whirled on Reid.
"You're a mage?" he half-whispered, half-shouted. "You've had magic this whole time and didn't say anything? Gods, man—look at the coins! We could've—! You—!"
Reid didn't stop walking.
"We'll talk," he said, voice flat and eyes forward. Even he didn't know that until last night.
"YOU'RE A BLOODY MAGE," Tarron repeated louder, looking betrayed as he tried to keep up.
The elk clicked beside them, smug as ever but Reid was wondering about the coins he had just lost. The loss was meaningless in itself but Reid could see his destination slipping away a little further.