The silver coin sat on Aiden's palm like a tiny sun, brighter than anything he had ever owned. For days he kept it hidden, pressing it to his chest at night as though it might vanish if he let it out of his sight.
But silver was not meant to be clutched like a child's toy. It was meant to grow.
That lesson, he knew, came from the pendant. Its warmth guided his thoughts whenever he hesitated, whispering silent urgings: invest, build, climb.
And so Aiden returned to the market, not as a starving boy, but as a calculating merchant in the making. He spent hours listening before spending a single coin. Prices rose and fell with the sun, and Aiden charted them in his mind. He saw which traders grew desperate near dusk, which goods were overlooked, which hands fidgeted when they lied.
When he finally made his move, it was on barrels of lamp oil. The sailors mocked him for buying such a thing—"Ghost wants to drink it!"—but Aiden ignored them. He had noticed the temple's candles burning late into the night in preparation for a holy festival. Oil would soon be scarce.
Three days later, when the priests came to buy, he sold his stock at four times the price.
From silver came more silver.
From that, copper enough to feed him for weeks.
But Aiden did not feast. He ate only what he needed, clothed himself no finer than before, and hid his growing wealth where no thief would think to look. Each coin was not for survival but for tomorrow.
The other orphans began to whisper. The ghost no longer begged, no longer starved, no longer looked half-dead. Some envied him, others feared him. Once, a gang of older boys cornered him, knives flashing, demanding his purse.
Aiden faced them calmly. "Kill me, and you'll have a few coins today," he said. "Follow me, and you'll eat for the rest of your lives."
They laughed, at first. But when Aiden fed them with profits from a small grain deal, their laughter turned to loyalty. He had no army, no strength—but he had numbers now, willing hands that obeyed.
Nights passed with Aiden planning by candlelight, the pendant's faint glow keeping him company. He learned faster than he thought possible: how to read, how to tally, how to weave words that persuaded buyers and silenced rivals. Knowledge flowed like a river from the stone, but it was his mind that built the banks to guide it.
And always, beyond the slums, the banners of House Veyra rippled against the sky.
The city whispered of Lady Selene's beauty, of her dowry, of the power her hand in marriage would grant. Princes and dukes dreamed of her. Aiden, the orphan ghost, dared to dream as well.
"Not yet," he told the pendant softly. "But soon."
And the gem pulsed faintly in reply.