Alfraed's reflection stared back at him from the mirror—face drawn, complexion ashen. His fingers traced an imaginary wrinkle on his otherwise immaculate attire, smoothing fabric that needed no attention. Today he would walk into the Finance House and sign his name to a contract binding Herbs & Lotions to a debt of one billion runes. A sum that would make merchants faint and nobles raise eyebrows. A burden that would crush lesser men beneath its weight.
A wave of nausea crashed over Alfraed without warning. His throat tightened, his stomach heaved, but produced nothing. He stumbled sideways, shoulder finding the wall as his single eye squeezed shut. In, out. In, out. His breathing steadied while sweat beaded cold across his forehead. One billion runes. The figure pulsed behind his eyelid like a second heartbeat, each throb reminding him of the precipice he stood upon, the void that awaited one misstep.
