The voice thundered across the assembled platforms.
[ Party One. Lucid and Fenwick.]
Lucid felt attention shift toward them. Hundreds of eyes. Thousands maybe. All the projection crowd below. All the participants on other platforms. Measuring. Judging. Calculating worth.
Fenwick made a small sound. Terrified. His hands gripped the platform edge harder.
[ Party Two. Magistrate Celeste of Port Vexis. ]
The woman with white hair inclined her head. Gracious. Acknowledging. Her identical guards moved in perfect synchronization. Like breathing. Like heartbeat. Disturbing in their coordination.
[ Party Three. The Congregation of Ember Ascendant. ]
The purple-robed figures remained still. Wrong in ways that made Lucid's skin crawl.
[ Party Four. Valen Thorne. ]
Lucid's eyes shot up. His breath caught.
'What? Him? Here?'
The boy with yellow hair. The one from the merchant district. The one who had appeared in the golden Domain. The one who had walked to a guillotine. The one who stared at Lucid with that heavy sadness... but also the one that sold knives in the district.
He was here. A full participant with standing equal to magistrates and cultists and whoever else commanded enough wealth to attend.
'How? How does a street merchant have resources for this? Unless he is not a street merchant. Unless everything I saw was performance. Unless Valen Thorne is something else entirely.'
A wicked smile crept across Lucid's face. He could not help it. Could not suppress it.
'All the merrier. Let them all come. Let them all compete. Makes it more interesting when I win.'
The competitive fire in his chest burned hotter. This was not just survival anymore. This was proving something. To himself. To them. To whatever forces thought they could measure him and find him wanting.
The voice continued. "The auction proceeds in sequential order. Bids are binding. Losses are absolute. Insufficient wealth results in structural collapse."
[ Structural collapse. The pillars. When you lose a bet your pillar cracks. Loses integrity. Eventually shatters completely .]
Understanding settled cold in Lucid's stomach. This was not just economic competition. This was architectural. Physical. The platforms they stood on were tied to their wealth. Lose enough and the platform fails. Falls. Takes everyone on it down into whatever waited below the golden clouds.
Looking at the platform he stood in, the platform were at uneven intervals, one of them were high the magistrate, followed by the cultists, and then the yellow hair boy who lagged just behind the cultists.
When lucid looked at his, theirs were all the way down, as if they were overshadowed by them.
'Great already at a disadvantage.'
Movement on Party Two's platform. Celeste stepped forward. Her voice carried across the distance with practiced projection.
"I challenge Party Three. The Congregation. I offer deed to eastern warehouse district. Registered value of twenty gold marks. Against equivalent holdings."
The purple-robed figures stirred. One stepped forward. Voice distorted. Wrong. Like multiple people speaking through one throat.
"We accept. Against our claim on northern shipping routes. Registered value forty gold marks."
The voice judged.
[ Stakes accepted. Terms defined. Transaction type: competitive acquisition. Winner claims both holdings. Loser surrenders stake completely. ]
Golden threads materialized. Wrapped around both platforms. Binding them. Connecting them. Making the bet physical. Tangible. Real.
[ Present arguments. Magistrate Celeste proceeds first. ]
Celeste spoke. Her words were technical. Precise. She detailed warehouse locations. Proximity to trade routes. Current rental income. Projected growth. Development potential. Infrastructure improvements funded by city coffers.
She spoke for three minutes. Every word chosen. Every fact verified. Every claim supported by documentation that materialized as she referenced it. Glowing contracts. Deeds. Official seals. Everything proving her wealth was real. It was as if the domain bent to her will showing projections of her face, her deeds her image like a holographic image behind her.
The Congregation's representative responded. Their argument was different. Less technical. More conceptual. They spoke of shipping routes as arteries. Of trade as lifeblood. Of control over movement meaning control over everything that moved.
They spoke for two minutes. Shorter. But their conviction was absolute. Like stating fundamental truth rather than making argument.
The Domain judged.
Silence stretched.
Then a pure golden blinding light covered the sky for a moment.
The threads around Party Three's platform tightened. Constricted. The pillar beneath them groaned. Cracked. Fissures spread up from base. The platform tilted. Dropped. Fell three feet before stopping with grinding crash.
[ Party Two wins. Assets transferred. Party Three loses equivalent value. ]
The purple-robed figures stumbled. Caught themselves. Their platform was lower now. Cracked. Unstable. One more loss like that and it would shatter completely.
Celeste smiled. A small satisfied smile. Her guards moved in perfect unison. Like celebrating. Like breathing.
Lucid's heart sank. Not from sympathy. From understanding.
'That is how it works. You bet. You argue. The Domain judges not just value but conviction. Presentation but how well you defend your claim. Then winner takes everything. Loser's platform cracks. Falls. Enough losses and you drop completely.'
He thought about their claims that were backed up by just mere fake documents, that represented their estates, their land.
Which were all fraudulent.
'Shit....'
He looked around the assembled platforms. At the other parties. At the wealth they represented. At the resources they could throw into competition.
'I am lucky. Lucky no one has bet against us yet. Lucky they are fighting each other. Draining each other. But that luck will not last. Eventually someone will notice us. Will see easy prey. Will challenge.'
The voice announced the next item. Not the relic. Something else. An artifact. A tool. A treasure worth acquiring but not worth dying for.
[ Opening value. fifty gold marks. ]
A platform on the far side raised indication. Accepted the opening. Another platform countered. Fifteen gold. Then twenty. Then thirty.
The numbers climbed. Lucid watched. Tried to track the pattern. Tried to understand the rhythm.
'Started at ten gold. Now approaching fifty. Moving fast. Each bid raising by five or ten. Competitive but controlled. Everyone testing. Feeling out limits.'
The item sold. Sixty gold marks. The winner's platform glowed briefly. Assets transferred. The loser's platform cracked slightly. Minor damage. Acceptable loss.
Next item. Different artifact. Different treasure.
[ Opening value. FIfty gold marks. ]
The bids came faster this time. Sixty. seventy. eighty. One hundred.
'Prices are running high. Higher than I expected. These people have resources. Real resources. Not fraud. Not promises. Actual accumulated wealth.'
Lucid shook his head. He had never been good with finances. With numbers. With understanding how wealth actually worked beyond survival level. Seven gold coins for a ring had seemed expensive. Now these people were throwing hundreds like pocket change.
Another item sold. One hundred and twenty gold marks. Then another. A hundred fifty. Then another.
'They are draining each other. Good. Let them spend. Let them weaken. Every transaction is risk. Every bet is chance to lose.'
He looked at where a Valene Thorne stood, the yellowed haired boy. Where was he getting all this kind of money from. He was just a street Vendor.
But the prices kept rising. Five hundred gold. Seven hundred. Approaching platinum conversion rates. Approaching values Lucid could not even conceptualize properly.
He had one asset left. The fraudulent property paperwork. The residence Fenwick had filed hours ago. Creating appearance of ownership without substance.
'Could I use it? Would it work? Or would the Domain see through it immediately? Judge it false? Shatter our platform on first challenge?'
Beside him Fenwick shook. Visibly. His whole body trembled. Teeth chattering. Hands gripping platform edge like only thing keeping him standing.
"Lucid," he whispered. Voice breaking. "Lucid we need to leave. We need to get out of here. We cannot compete with this. Cannot survive this."
"We stay."
"They will destroy us. Will shatter our platform. We will fall to our deaths."
"Maybe. But running guarantees death. Staying gives chance."
"What chance? What possible chance do we have against magistrates and cultists and whoever else commands this kind of wealth?"
'Good question. What chance do I have? What resources can I actually deploy?'
Lucid thought through his options. The fraudulent paperwork. The purple pendant. The worthless ring. The knife from the alley. His fate essence reserves that caused internal bleeding when used. His companions who were not here. His promises that might or might not hold value.
'Not much. Not enough. But enough to try. Enough to make one bet. One challenge. One attempt before the platform shatters.'
Light fell on their platform. Golden. Bright. Focusing attention.
Their turn.