Kael sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, staring at the faint glow of the Crest etched into his wrist. His stomach was full, his body rested, yet his mind refused to quiet. He had two Glims left. Two. Barely enough for food, let alone lodging for long.
'How to make money…'
The Crest of Remembrance gave him the ability to glimpse the "memories" of objects. Limited though it was, the power could be turned toward gathering information. And information, especially reliable information, always had value. 'So an informant… '
He let the thought linger, then another followed.
'or a detective.'
The thought made him pause. He looked at the ceiling in melancholy. Long ago, Ash used to tell the orphans stories about great detectives from the old cities, who uncovered truths others tried to bury. As a child, Kael had listened wide-eyed, fascinated by the idea that wit and observation could triumph where strength failed. He was not sure if the idea came from that fantasy, or simply from the need to remember those times when, hellish as they were, he had not been alone.
But his own voice cut against the fantasy almost instantly.
'And who in their right mind would hand a case to some nameless drifter with no background? No guild stamp, no license, not even a recommendation. Even worse, one looking like a criminal.'
Kael rubbed his temples, scowling. He couldn't argue with himself there. Every sanctum had rules, loose as they were. Authority, even corrupt, would not tolerate a stray digging around without sanction. Being branded an "illegal detective" was the kind of title that got you beaten in an alley, or worse, sold off to some cult desperate for test subjects.
'Unless I keep it in the shadows. Just word of mouth.'
That, too, carried risks. Who would trust him enough to pay? How would anyone even know he could deliver?
Still… Oasis was remote, far from the great sanctums. Few of the "burdened" resided here outside the city guards. He wouldn't need to swing a blade against monsters or risk scavenging in ruins. His body might fail him, but his eyes, instincts, and the Crest would not. And unlike laborers or mercenaries, an informant could demand high pay if they proved reliable. 'It's not like I can do any other work with this fragile body after all.'
'It's dangerous. It might even get me killed. But if it works…' He leaned back, the decision settling. 'It's better than starving.'
As the last sliver of sun dipped below the jagged skyline of Oasis, painting the clouds in shades of bruised red and dull orange, a strange sense of calm settled over him. The anxiety of uncertainty was replaced by the focus of a set goal.
He rose, his body heavy with resolve, and went downstairs for a simple dinner of stew and coarse bread. He ate methodically, tasting little, his mind already rehearsing the steps to come. Afterward, he returned to his room and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Dawn seeped into the room not with a burst of light, but with a pale, grey insistence. Kael woke up, washed his face in the basin's cool water, and dressed. Stepping outside, he was met by the morning breath of Oasis. The air carried the smell of baking bread, the sharp scent of soapy water as shopkeepers washed their stoops, and the underlying, ever present dust of the stone city.He moved with the flow of the crowd, his destination clear.
The market was a chaotic engine of commerce. Vendors loudly advertised their fresh produce, huntsmen laid out game still glistening with dew, and cloth merchants unfurled bolts of vibrant fabric that seemed too bright for the dusty world. Kael ignored the food stalls, his stomach clenching. His eyes scanned the less reputable edges of the market, where vendors sold odds and ends from folded blankets or rickety carts.
He found what he was looking for tucked between a seller of rusted tools and an old woman hawking wilted herbs. The stall was a clutter of junk, and amidst the debris was a box of masks. They were crude things, carved from lightweight sandalwood or molded from stiffened leather.
His fingers sifted through them until he found one. It was simple, sanded smooth and unpainted, covering his face with narrow slits for eyes.
The haggling was brief and tense. The vendor, a thin man with a gaunt face, started at five Glims. Kael, with nothing but a hollow threat in his pockets, turned to leave.
"Wait! Fine. Three. A steal!" the man called after him.
"Two," Kael said, his voice flat. He turned back, holding up his last two coins. "It's all I have."
The vendor's eyes darted between the Glims and Kael's scarred, serious face. He scowled, but snatched the coins. "Take it and go. You're robbing me."
Kael took the mask. It felt light and final in his hand. He was now officially broke. The last of his safety net was gone. He slipped it into his coat pocket and wandered deeper into the city.
With the mask in his pocket and no money left, Kael's objective was to gather information about the city. He spent the day in the market and near the main gates, listening. The basic facts were common knowledge and easy to learn. He discovered that Oasis was connected to other regions through Gates, which were controlled by powerful merchant guilds. He also heard people talk about the docks, the center of all trade, and a rumored underground area called the Sunken City.
By evening, Kael knew the city's layout, but he needed more. He needed to know what ordinary people thought about the authorities and their own lives. He concluded that the best place to learn this was in a tavern, where people spoke freely.
A full day passed. Kael moved from one cheap bar to another, but found nothing useful. His hunger grew from a dull ache to a sharp pain.
Finally, in a rundown tavern he took a seat in a dark corner. His search for information had yielded nothing, and his desperation was mounting. Then, two off-duty guards sat at a nearby table, their voices loud and slurring.
The first was a beefy man with a puffy, red face and a nose that had been broken more than once. The second was thinner, with narrow set, shifty eyes and a permanent smirk. The beefy one slammed his empty mug on the table.
"Another round," he bellowed, before turning to his partner. "I swear, if I have to deal with Merchant Lorcan one more time, I'm going to break his teeth."
The thin one with the shifty eyes chuckled. "Was this about that nonsense at the docks today?"
"Of course it was," the beefy guard grumbled.
"Wasted my whole afternoon. Lorcan claims a crate of his precious sun-spices was stolen. Points his finger at the first outsider he sees, a laborer named Renn. We bring the poor bastard in, rough him up. He denies everything, and there's not a shred of proof. A complete waste of time."
"So you let him go?"
"Had to. But not before we gave him a few bruises for his trouble," the guard said with a cruel laugh. "Lorcan was just covering his own mistake, I'm sure of it."
Kael listened intently. A potential case. But his mind immediately hit the logical wall: a framed, jobless laborer has no money to pay. So he dismissed the thought and decided to observe a little more.
Later, the guards' conversation drifted to the number of newcomers arriving from the ruins.
"This city is getting crowded," the thin guard complained.
The beefy one shrugged. "At least Merchant Valia gives them a few days' work when they arrive. Keeps them from starving on the streets." He took a long drink. "That laborer from before, Renn? Heard he was one of the ones she helped out a month back when he first got here."
That caught Kael's attention. His primary thought was immediate and desperate: Valia gives jobs to outsiders. I'm an outsider. I'm starving. I need a job.
His secondary thought was about the connection. The man who was framed, Renn, was also helped by her. That's an interesting coincidence.
Pushing away from the table, the dizzying hunger was now a focused fire. He had a target. He stepped out of the tavern and into the twilight, his course set. He would find Valia's compound.
'Let's hope it's not too heavy. '