The dozen of us gathered like nervous cattle before the ruin's entrance. The archway loomed over us, its stones humming faintly with residual magic, and for a long moment no one dared cross the threshold. Shadows writhed within, moving only when our lanterns flickered.
I led the way. I always did.
Some of the others glanced at me with a mixture of respect and resentment. I'd survived more ruin dives than most of them combined, and though I had no family wealth or noble ties, experience carries its own weight. I ignored their stares and stepped into the corridor. My boots crunched on ancient dust, and behind me the whispers began.
Three of those whispers belonged to brothers, the bane of my existence whenever I was unlucky enough to be paired with them. Van, the eldest, strutted like a cock in a yard. Broad-shouldered, thick-armed, and about as intelligent as my left nut, he was a natural brawler. On Arcadia's outer ring, he was considered the best bare-knuckle fighter around. Sadly, strength without sense can still dominate a place where law bends easily to muscle.
His brothers trailed him like obedient dogs. They weren't clever either, but they adored him, every cruel laugh, every flex of muscle, every threat spat between his teeth was met with their eager nods. Together, the three of them had robbed me more than once. Every time I returned from a ruin with something valuable, Van demanded his cut. And every time I refused, his brothers' fists ensured compliance.
I didn't doubt today would be the same.
The ruin's corridor stretched long and straight, the walls covered in glowing runes that pulsed with gentle rhythm. The markings reminded me of veins carrying light instead of blood, leading deeper into the darkness. They made navigation easier, but also warned me to stay alert; runes this intact often meant the ruin still held working traps.
I brushed my fingers against the left wall, falling into my old habit of hugging one side. Always follow the left wall. It had kept me alive more than once, guiding me out of labyrinthine halls when panic clawed at my throat.
Room after room yielded little. Empty pedestals, shattered glass cases, chests long since cracked open and picked clean. Perhaps scavengers had already stripped this place bare, or perhaps the good treasures were hidden deeper where most dare not tread.
I still found scraps, a few loose coins wedged between flagstones, half-rotted scrolls crammed into the crevice of a collapsed shelf, a book so damaged that whole sections of text were missing. Nothing life-changing, but enough to keep hope alive. The book I kept out, partly because it wasn't worth much, partly because I needed something in my hands in case Van came sniffing around.
Once, I stumbled upon a small chamber with a suspiciously smooth wall and a faint outline of a hidden door mechanism. I paused, studying it, but quickly dismissed the idea of going in alone. Solo explorers who dabbled with hidden doors often ended up in traps they couldn't escape. I left it be.
Two hours passed in this way. I moved slowly, careful with each step, disabling what few rusted traps I encountered and pocketing anything with the faintest gleam of value. Hunger gnawed at me, so I sat on a broken slab to chew the stale bread ration the guards had provided. It was hard as stone and tasted worse, but it filled the emptiness for now.
As I finished the last bite, echoes reached my ears. Footsteps. Laughter. Voices.
My stomach sank.
I rose, brushing crumbs from my tunic, and turned just as three familiar silhouettes rounded the corner. Van and his shadows.
He spotted me immediately, grinning wide, and spread his arms as though welcoming an old friend.
"Max!" His voice boomed down the corridor, too loud, too confident. "You know how this goes. Time to pay the Van tax!"
The Van tax, his pathetic attempt at branding extortion as tradition. Everyone hated it, but no one dared challenge him outright. Not unless they had numbers on their side, or a weapon sharper than his fists.
I sighed and lifted the battered book in my hand. "This ruin's already been picked clean, Van. This is all I've found. If I give it to you, I'll have nothing left."
Van's grin widened. He closed the distance in a few heavy strides, his breath sour with arrogance as he pressed nose-to-nose with me. His brothers flanked him, smirking like hyenas.
"Your ability to pay and your obligation to pay," Van said, poking my chest with one thick finger, "are two separate things. Hand it over."
I weighed my options. If it were just him, I might risk fighting back. But with his brothers here, the odds weren't in my favor. I'd learned that lesson before, back when their fists left me coughing blood in the dirt.
So I put on a show of defeat. "Fine," I muttered, holding out the book. "Here. Not that it's worth much."
He snatched it eagerly, flipping through the pages as if he had the faintest clue what he was looking at. He didn't. We both knew that. But the act mattered to him, so he played it out.
Then, just to remind me of my place, he slammed me against the wall. Stone scraped my back and a dull ache blossomed in my shoulder. His strength outstripped mine easily; resisting would have been pointless.
"Next time," he growled, his nose inches from mine, "just hand it over. Don't argue."
He shoved me once more for emphasis before turning away. His brothers laughed, clutching their own meager finds, and the three of them swaggered down the corridor.
I exhaled, rubbing my shoulder, and bent to dust myself off. That's when I heard it: ting!, the unmistakable sound of metal striking stone.
I froze. Slowly, I looked down.
A single gold coin gleamed on the floor.
My heart lurched. It must have slipped from my pocket during Van's shove. I crouched quickly, snatched it up, and straightened, only to hear a roar echo down the hall.
"MAX, YOU FUCKING SNEAK!" Van's voice was thunder, filled with fury. "Did you think you could keep that from me too? NOW YOUR ASS IS MINE!"